THE  BOOK  OF 
HUMOROUS    VERSE 


Compiled  by 

CAROLYN   WELLS 

ACTHOR    OF     '*  SUCH     NONSKNSB," 

**  THB  WHIMSBT  ANTHOLOGV." 

ETC.,   ETC. 


NEW  ^^f  YORK 
GEORGE   H.    DORAN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1920, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OP  AMERICA 


TO 
ROBERT   CHAPMAN   SPRAGUE 


425486 


INTRODUCTION 

A  HOPE  of  immortality  and  a  sense  of  humor  distinguish  man 
from  the  beasts  of  the  field. 

A  single  exception  may  be  made,  perhaps,  of  the  Laughing 
Hyena,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  not  every  one  of  the  human 
race  possesses  the  power  of  laughter.  For  those  who  do,  this 
volume  is  intended. 

And  since  there  can  be  nothing  humorous  about  an  intro- 
duction, there  can  be  small  need  of  a  lengthy  one. 

Merely  a  few  explanations  of  conditions  which  may  be 
censured  by  captious  critics. 

First,  the  limitations  of  space  had  to  be  recognized. 
Hence,  the  book  is  a  compilation,  not  a  collection.  It  is 
representative,  but  not  exhaustive.  My  ambition  was  toward 
a  volume  to  which  everyone  could  go,  with  a  surety  of 
finding  any  one  of  his  favorite  humorous  poems  between 
these  covers.  But  no  covers  of  one  book  could  insure  that, 
so  I  reluctantly  gave  up  the  dream  for  a  reality  which  I 
trust  will  make  it  possible  for  a  majority  of  seekers  to  find 
their  favorites  here. 

The  compiler's  course  is  a  difficult  one.  The  Scylla  of 
Popularity  lures  him  on  the  one  hand,  while  the  Charybdis 
of  the  Classical  charms  him  on  the  other.  He  has  nothing 
to  steer  by  but  his  own  good  taste,  and  good  taste,  alack,  is 
greatly  a  matter  of  opinion. 

And  no  opinion  seemeth  good  unto  an  honest  compiler, 
save  his  own.  Wherefore,  the  choice  of  these  selections,  like 
kissing,  went  by  favor.  As  to  the  arrangement  of  them,  every 
compiler  will  tell  you  that  Classification  is  Vexation.  And 
why  not?  When  many  a  poem  may  be  both  Parody  and 
Satire, — both  Komance  and  Cynicism.  Wherefore,  the  com- 
piler sorted  with  loving  care  the  selections  here  presented 
striving  to  do  justice  to  the  verses  themselves,  and 
taking  a  chance  on  the  tolerant  good  nature  of  the 
reader. 


vi 

Introduction 

For, 

"A  jesfs  prosperity  lies  in  the  ear 
Of  him  that  hears  it. 
Never  in  the  tongue 
Of  him  that  makes  it." 

Which  made  me  all  the  more  careful  to  do  my  authors  justice, 
leaving  the  prosperity  of  the  jests  to  the  hearers. 

Carolyn  Wells. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

The  compiler  is  indebted  to  the  publisher  or  author,  as 
noted  below,  for  the  use  of  copyright  material  included  in 
this  volume.  Special  arrangements  have  been  made  with 
the  authorized  publishers  of  those  American  poets,  whose 
works  in  whole  or  in  part  have  lapsed  copyright.  All  rights 
of  these  poems  have  been  reserved  by  the  authorized  pub- 
lisher, author  or  holder  of  the  copyright  as  indicated  in  the 
following : 

Little,  Brown  &  Company:  For  selections  from  the  Poems 
and  Limericks  of  Edward  Lear. 

The  Macmillan  Company:  For  selections  from  the  Poems 
of  Lewis  Carroll  and  Verses  from  "Alice's  Adventures  in 
Wonderland  "  and  "  Through  the  Looking  Glass." 

Harr  Wagner  Publishing  Company:  For  permission  to 
reprint  from  "  The  Complete  Poems "  of  Joaquin  Miller 
"That  Gentle  Man  From  Boston  Town,"  "That  Texan 
Cattle  Man,"  "  William  Brown  of  Oregon." 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company:  "Bessie  Brown,  M.D." 
and  "A  Kiss  in  the  Rain,"  by  Samuel  Minturn  Peck. 

Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Company:  For  the  inclusion  of 
the  following  Poems  by  Sam  Walter  Foss :  "  The  Meeting 
of  the  Clabberhuses,"  "  A  Philosopher "  and  "  The  Prayer 
of  Cyrus  Brown  "  from  "  Dreams  in  Homespun,"  copyright, 
1897.  "  Then  Agin—"  and  "  Husband  and  Heathen,"  from 
"  Back  Country  Poems,"  copyright,  1894.  "  The  Ideal  Hus- 
band to  His  Wife,"  from  "Whiffs  from  Wild  Meadows," 
copyright,  1895. 

Forbes  &  Company:  "How  Often?"  "If  I  Should  Die 
To-night,"  and  "  The  Pessimist,"  by  Ben  King. 

The  Century  Company:  For  permission  to  reprint  from 
St.  Nicholas  Magazine  the  following  poems  by  Ruth  McEnery 
Stuart:  "The  Endless  Song"  and  "The  Hen-Roost  Man"; 
and  by  Tudor  Jenks:  "An  Old  Bachelor";  and  by  Mary 


viii  Acknowledgments 

Mapes  Dodge:  "Home  and  Mother,"  "Life  in  Laconics" 
"  Over  the  Way  "  and  "  The  Zealless  Xylographer." 

Thomas  L.  Masson :  For  permission  to  reprint  "  The  Kiss  " 
from  "Life." 

E.  P.  Dutton  &  Company:  "The  Converted  Cannibals" 
and  "  The  Retired  Pork-Butcher  and  the  Spook,"  by  G.  E. 
Farrow. 

Houghton  Mifflin  Company:  With  their  permission  and 
by  special  arrangement,  as  authorized  publishers  of  the  fol- 
lowing authors*  works,  are  used:  Selections  from  Nora 
Perry,  John  Townsend  Trowbridge,  Charles  E.  Carryl, 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  John  Greenleaf  Whittier,  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson,  Bret  Harte,  James  Thomas  Fields,  John 
G.   Saxe,  James  Russell  Lowell  and  Bayard  Taylor. 

A.  P.  Watt  &  Son  and  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company:  For 
their  permission  to  use  "  Divided  Destinies,"  "  Study  of  an 
Elevation,  in  Indian  Ink,"  and  "  Commonplaces,"  by  Rud- 
yard  Kipling. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons:  Selections  from  the  Poems  of 
Eugene  Fitch  Ware  and  "  The  Wreck  of  the  '  Julie  Plante/  " 
by  William  Henry  Drummond. 

Henry  Holt  &  Company:   Two  Parodies  from  " 

and  Other  Poets,"  by  Louis  Untermeyer. 

Dodd,  Mead  &  Company:  "The  Constant  Cannibal 
Maiden,"  "Blow  Me  Eyes"  and  "A  Grain  of  Salt,"  by 
Wallace  Irwin. 

John  Lane  Company:  For  Poems  by  Owen  Seaman, 
Anthony  C.  Deane  and  G.  K.  Chesterton. 

The  Smart  Set:  "  Dighton  is  Engaged,"  and  "Kitty 
Wants  to  Write,"  by  Gelett  Burgess. 

Small,  Maynard  &  Company:  For  selections  from  Holman 
F.  Day,  Richard  Hovey  and  Clinton  Scollard. 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company:  For  special  permission  to 
reprint  from  the  Biographical  Edition  of  the  Complete 
Works  of  James  Whitcomb  Riley  (copyright,  1913)  the  fol- 
lowing Poems :  "  Little  Orphant  Annie,"  "  The  Lugubrious 
Whing- Whang,"  "  The  Man  in  the  Moon,"  "  The  Old  Man 
and  Jim,"  "  Prior  to  Miss  Belle's  Appearance,"  "  Spirk 
ThroU-Derisive,"  "When  the  Frost  is  on  the  Punkin." 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company:  For  permission  to  use  the 


Acknowledgments  ix 

following  Poems  by  Robert  J.  Burdette,  from  "  Smiles  Yoked 
with  Sighs  "  (copyright,  1900),  "  Orphan  Born,"  "  The  Ro- 
mance of  the  Carpet,"  "  Soldier,  Rest ! ",  "  Songs  without 
Words,"  "What  WiU  We  Do?". 

Charles  Scribner's  Sons :  For  permission  to  use  "  The 
Dinkey-Bird,"  "Dutch  Lullaby,"  "The  Little  Peach,"  "The 
Truth  About  Horace,"  by  Eugene  Field. 


CONTENTS 

I:    BANTER 

PAGE 

The  Played-Out  Humorist W.  S.  Gilbert 25 

The  Practical  Joker , iV.  S.  Gilbert 26 

To  Phoebe ^'  S.  Gilbert 28 

Malbrouck Father  Prout   29 

Mark  Twain :  A  Pipe  Dream Oliver  Herford   30 

From  a  Full  Heart  A.  A,  Milne 31 

The  Ultimate  Joy Unknown    32 

Old  Fashioned  Fun W.  M.  Thackeray 33 

When  Moonlike  Ore  the  Hazure 

Seas ^'  M,  Thackeray 34 

When  the  Frost  is  on  the  Punkin  . .  James  Whitcomb  Riley 34 

Two  Men   Edwin  Arlington  Robinson  . .  35 

A  Familiar  Letter  to  Several  Cor- 
respondents     Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   36 

The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 38 

Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-eth€   H.  C.  Bunner 40 

A  Rondelay   Peter  A.  Motteux 41 

Winter  Dusk  R.  K.  Munkittrick   42 

Comic  Miseries John  G.  Saxe 42 

Early  Rising   John  G.  Saxe 44 

To  the  Pliocene  Skull Bret  Harte  46 

Ode  to  Work  in  Springtime   Thomas  R.  Ybarra 47 

Old  Stuff   Bert  Leston  Taylor  48 

To    Minerva    Thomas  Hood 49 

The  Legend  of  Heinz  Von  Stein  . .  Charles  Godfrey  Leland 49 

The  Truth  About  Horace Eugene  Field 50 

Propinquity  Needed Charles  Battell  Loomis 51 

In  the  Catacombs Harlan  Hoge  Ballard   52 

Our  Native  Birds Nathan  Haskell  Dole   53 

The  Prayer  of  Cyrus  Brown Sam  Walter  Foss   54 

Erring  in  Company   Franklin  P.  Adams   ........  55 

Cupid    William  Blake 56 

If  We  Didn't  Have  to  Eat Nixon  Waterman   57 

To  My  Empty  Purse   Goeffrey  Chaucer  58 

The  Birth  of  Saint  Patrick Samuel  Lover  58 

Her  Little  Feet William   Ernest  Henley    59 

School   James  Kenneth  Stephen   ....  60 

The  Millennium   James  Kennetn  Stephen 60 

"  Exactly  So  " Lady  T.  Hastings 61 

Companions   Charles  Stuart  Calverley   ...  63 

The  Schoolmaster    Charles  Stuart  Calverley   ...  64 

A  Appeal  for  Are  to  the  Sextant 

of  the  old  Brick  Meetinouse Arabella  Willson 66 

Cupid's  Darts   ; Unknown 67 

A  Plea  for  Trigamy Owen  Seaman 68 

The  Pope   Charles  Lever  70 

All  at  Sea   Frederick  Moxon 70 

Ballad  of  the  Primitive  Jest  Andrew  Lang 72 

Villanelle  of  Things  Amusing   Gelett  Burgess 73 

How  to  Eat  Watermelons   Frank  Libby  Stanton 73 

A  Vague  Story  Walter  Parke 74 

His  Mother-in-Law   Walter  Parke 75 

On  a  Deaf  Housekeeper Unknown    76 


xii  Contents 

PAGE 

HomcEopathic    Soup     Unknown    76 

Some  Little  Bug Roy  Atwell 77 

On  the  Downtown  Side  of  an  Up- 
town Street   William  Johnston  79 

Written    After    Swimming    from 

Sestos  to  Abydos  Lord  Byron 80 

The  Fisherman's  Chant F.  C.  Burnand 81 

Report  of  an  Adjudged  Case   William  Cowper 82 

Prehistoric   Smith    David  Law  Proudfit 83 

Song George  Canning    84 

Lying Thomas  Moore 86 

Strictly  Germ- Proof Arthur  Guiterman    87 

The  Lay  of  the  Lover's  Friend William  E.  Aytoun 88 

Man's  Place  in  Nature  Unknown    89 

T^-e  New  Version  W.  J.  Lampton   90 

Ai  laaing  Facts  About  Food    Unknown    91 

Transcendentalism    Unknown    92 

A  "  Caudal  "  Lecture William  Sawyer 92 

Salad  Sydney  Smith   93 

Nemesis /.  W.  Foley   94 

"  Mona    Lisa  "    John  Kendrick  Bangs 95 

The  Siege  of  Djklxprwbz   Eugene  Fitch  Ware  96 

Rural  Bliss Anthony  C.  Deane  97 

An  Old  Bachelor   Tudor  Jenks    98 

Song    /.  R.  Planch^ 99 

Th  Quest  of  the  Purple  Cow Hilda  Johnson 100 

St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  My  Dear!. .  William  Maginn  loi 

The  Irish  Schoolmaster James  A.  Sidey  103 

Reflections  on  Cleopathera's  Needle  .  Cormac  O'Leary   105 

The  Origin  of  Ireland Unknown    106 

As  to  the  Weather Unknown    107 

The  Twins  ^ Henry  S.  Leigh   108 


II:   THE   ETERNAL  FEMININE 

He  and  She i . . .  Eugene  Fitch  Ware 109 

The   Kiss    Tom  Masson   109 

The  Courtin*   James  Russell  Lowell 110 

Hiram  Hover Bayard  Taylor 113 

Blow  Me  Eyes !    Wallace  Irwin  115 

First  Love Charles  Stuart  Calverley  ...  116 

What  Is  a  Woman  Like  ?    Unknown    118 

Mis'  Smith Albert  Bigelow  Paine 119 

Triolet Paul  T.  Gilbert  120 

Bessie  Brown,  M.D Samuel  Minturn  Peck 120 

A  Sketch  from  the  Life Arthur  Guiterman    121 

Minguillo's  Kiss   Unknown    122 

A  Kiss  in  the  Rain  Samuel  Minturn  Peck 123 

The  Love-Knot  Nora  Perry    124 

Over  the  Way Mary  Mapes  Dodge 125 

Chorus  of  Women   Aristophanes    126 

The  Widow  Malone Charles  Lever 126 

The  Smack  in  School   William  Pitt  Palmer  ......  128 

'Splicially  Jim   Bessie  Morgan 129 

Kitty  of  Coleraine Edward  Lysaght   130 

Why  Don't  the  Men  Propose? Thomas  Haynes  Bayly 130 

A  Pin    Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 132 

The  Whistler Unknown 133 

The  Cloud   Oliver  Her  ford 1 34 

Constancy John  Boyle  O'Reilly    137 

Ain't  it  Awful,  Mabel  ?    John  Edward  Hazzard 137 

Wing  Tee  Wee 7.  P.  Denison   139 


Contents  xiii 

PACE 

Phyllis  Lee Oliver  Herford 139 

The  Sorrows  of  Werther   IV.  M.  Thackeray  140 

The  Unattainable   Harry  Romaine 141 

Rory  O'More ;  or,  Good  Omens  .  . .  .Samuel  Lover   141 

A  Dialogue  from  Plato  Austin  Dobson    142 

Dora  Versus  Rose Austin  Dobson    144 

Tu   Quoque    .Austin  Dobson    146 

Nothing  to  Wear   William  Allen  Butler 148 

My  Mistress's  Boots   Frederick  Locker -Lampson  .  153 

Mrs.    Smith    Frederick  Locker-Lampson  .  155 

A  Terrible  Infant    Frederick  Locker-Lampson.  156 

Susan Frederick  Locker-Lampson  .  157 

"I    Didn't   Like    Him"    Harry  B.  Smith    i57 

My  Angeline   Harry  B.  Smith   158 

Nora's  Vow   Sir  Walter  Scott 159 

Husband  and  Heathen   Sam  Walter  Foss   160 

The  Lost  Pleiad  Arthur  Reed  Ropes   161 

The  New  Church  Organ  Will  Carleton    162 

Larrie  O'Dee  William  W.  Fink   165 

No   Fault  in   Women    Robert  Herrick   166 

A  Cosmopolitan  Woman Unknown, 167 

Courting  in  Kentucky   Florence  E.  Pratt 168 

Any  One  Will  Do   Unknown    169 

A   Bird   in   the   Hand Frederic  E.   Weatherly    170 

The  Belle  of  the  Ball   Winthrop  Mackworth  Praed  171 

The    Retort    George  Pope  Morris   174 

Behave  Yoursel'  Before  Folk Alexander  Rodger i74 

The  Chronicle :  A  Ballad Abraham   Cowley    176 

Buxom  Joan William   Congreve    I79 

Oh.  My  Geraldine F.  C.  Burnand 180 

The  Parterre   E.  H.  Palmer 180 

How  to  Ask  and  Have Samuel  Lover   181 

Sally  in  Our  Alley Henry  Carey   182 

False  Love  and  True  Logic Laman  Blanchard  183 

Pet's  Punishment   /.  Ashby-Sterry  184 

Ad  Chloen,  M.A Mortimer  Collins   184 

Chloe    M.  A Mortimer  Collins 185 

The  Fair  Millinger Fred  W.  Loring   186 

Two   Fishers    Unknown    188 

Maud Henry  S.   Leigh    188 

Are  Women  Fair  ?   Francis  Davison  189 

The  Plaidie Charles   Sibley 190 

Feminine  Arithmetic  Charles  Graham  Halpine   . .  191 

Lord  Guy George  F.  Warren   191 

Sary  *'  Fixes  Up  "  Things   Albert  Bigelow  Paine   192 

The  Constant  Cannibal  Ma'den Wallace  Irwm   194 

Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Sniffles  ...Frances  M.   Whitcher   19S 

Under  the  Mistletoe George  Francis  Shulis    196 

The  Broken  Pitcher William   E,    Aytoun    196 

Gifts  Returned   Wnlter  Savage  Landor  ....  198 


III:  LOVE  AND  COURTSHIP 

Noureddin,  the  Son  of  the  Shah  .  .Clinton  Scollard   199 

The  Usual  Way Frederic  E.   Weatherly   200 

The  Way  to  Arcady   H.  C.  Biinner  201 

My  Love  and  My  Heart   Henry  S.  Leigh    204 

Quite  by  Chance Frederick  Langbridge   205 

The  Nun Leigh  Hunt   206 

The  Chemist  to  His  Love  Unknown    266 

Categorical  Courtship Unknown    207 

Lanty  Leary Samuel  Lover   208 


xiv  Contents 

PAGE 

The  Secret  Combination  Ellis  Parker  Butler   209 

Forty  Years  After  H.   H.   Porter   210 

Cupid Ben  Jonson    211 

Paring-Time  Anticipated    William  Cowper   212 

Why H.   P.   Stevens    214 

The  Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade Father  Prout   214 

I  Hae  Laid  a  Herring  in  Saut James    Tytler    216 

The  Clown's  Courtship   Unknown    217 

Out  Upon  It   Sir  John  Suckling    218 

Love  is  Like  a  Dizziness    James  Hogg  218 

The  Kitchen  Clock John   Vance   Cheney    220 

Lady  Mine   H.  E.  Clarke   22 1 

Ballade  of  the  Golfer  in  Love   Clinton  Scollard   222 

Ballade  of  Forgotten  Loves Arthur   Grissom    223 


IV:  SATIRE 

A  Ballade  of  Suicide G.  K.  Chesterton   224 

Finnigan  to  Flannigan 5.   W.  Gillinan   225 

Study  of  an  Lievation  in  Indian  Ink  .  Rudyard  Kipling 226 

The  V-a-s-e   James  Jeffrey  Roche   227 

Miniver  Cheevy Edwin  Arlington  Robinson  .  229 

The  Recruit Robert  W.  Chambers 230 

Officer  Brady Robert  W.  Chambers 232 

Post-Impressionism    Bert  Leston  Taylor   235 

To  the  Portrait  of  "  A  Gentleman  "  .  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 236 

Cacoethes  Scribendi Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  ....  238 

Contentment Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 238 

A  Boston  Lullaby James  Jeffrey  Roche   240 

A  Grain  of  Salt  Wallace  Irwin 241 

Song Richard  Lovelace   241 

A  Philosopher Sam    Walter  Foss    242 

The  Meeting  of  the  Clabberhuses . . .  Sam   Walter  Foss    244 

The  Ideal  Husband  to  His  Wife  . . .  Sam   Walter  Foss    246 

Distichs John  Hay   247 

The  Hen-roost  Man  Ruth  McEnery  Stuart 247 

If  They  Meant  All  They  Say Alice  Duer  Miller 247 

The  Man    Stephen   Crane    248 

A  Thought  James  Kenneth  Stephen 248 

The  Musical  Ass   Tomaso  de  Yriarte 249 

The  Knife-Grinder George  Canning   249 

St.  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes  ./i&ra/tam  d  Sancta-Clara    ..  251 

The  Battle  of  Blenheim   Robert  Southey  252 

The  Three  Black  Crows  John  Byrom 254 

To  the  Terrestrial  Globe W.  S.  Gilbert    256 

Etiquette W.  S.  Gilbert   256 

A  Modest  Wit Selleck  Osborn   260 

The  Latest  Decalogue   Arthur  Hugh  Clough   261 

A  Simile Matthew  Prior    262 

By  Parcels  Post  George  R.  Sims   262 

AU's  Well  That  Ends  Well Unknown    264 

The  Contrast Captain  C.  Morris   265 

The  Devonshire  Lane John  Marriott   266 

A  Splendid  Fellow H.  C.  Dodge   267 

If    H.  C.  Dodge   268 

Accepted  and  Will  Appear Parmenas  Mix 268 

The  Little  Vagabond William  Blake 269 

Sympathy Reginald  Heber    270 

The  Religion  of  Hudibras  Samuel  Butler  271 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer  Robert  Burns 272 

The  Learned  Negro    Unknown    274 

True  to  Poll   F.  C.  Burnand 275 


Contents  xv 

PAGE 

Trust  in  Women Unknown    276 

The  Literary  Lady  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  .  278 

Twelve  Articles Dean  Swift   . , 279 

All-Saints   Edmund  Yates 280 

How  to  Make  a  Man  of  Consequence. Mar/f  Lemon   280 

On  a  Magazine  Sonnet Russell  Milliard  Loines  ....   281 

Paradise    George  dirdseye   281 

The  Friar  of  Orders  Gray John   O'Keefe    282 

Of  a  Certain  Man Sir  John  Harrington   282 

Clean  Clara   IV.  B.  Rands  283 

Christmas   Chimes    Unknown    284 

The  Ruling  Passion   Alexander  Pope    285 

The  Pope  and  the  Net Robert  Browning 286 

The   Actor    John  Wolcot 287 

The  Lost  Spectacles   Unknown    287 

That  Texan  Cattle  Man    Joaquin  Miller 288 

Fable   Ralph  Waldo  Emerson    ....   290 

Hoch !    Der   Kaiser    Rodney  Blake    291 

What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks   James  Russell  Lowell 292 

The    Candidate's   Creed    James  Russell  Lowell 294 

The  Razor  Seller   John   Wolcot    297 

The  Devil's  Walk  on  Earth    Robert  Southey  298 

Father  Molloy  Sr.muel  Lover   307 

Tile  Owl-Critic   Jcmes  Thomas  Fields   309 

What  Will  We  Do? Robert   J.  Burdette    3" 

Life  in   Laconics    Mary  Mapes  Dodge   311 

Oi   Knowing   When  to  Stop    L.   /.   Bridgman    31a 

R  ;v.    Gabe   Tucker's    Remarks    ....  Unknown    312 

T  lursday Frederic  E.  Weatherly 313 

Sky-Making    Mortimer  Collins 3^4 

The   Positivists   Mortimer  C  llins 3^5 

Martial  in  London   Mortimer  Collins 316 

The  Splendid  Shilling John  Philips    316 

After  Horace A.  D.  Godley 320 

Of   a    Precise    Tailor    Sir  John  Harrington    322 

Money   Jehan  du  Pontalais 323 

Boston    Nursery    Rhymes    Rev.  Joseph  Cook 324 

Kentucky  Philosophy Harrison  Robertson   32S 

John  Grumlie Allan  Cunningham   326 

A  Song  of  Impossibilities    Winthrop  Mackworth  Praed  327 

Song    John  Donne   33© 

The  Oubit Charles  Kingsley 33© 

Double  Ballade  of  Primitive  Man  .  .Andrew  Lang 33' 

Phillis's  Age    Matthew  Prior   332 


V:  CYNICISM 

Good  and  Bad  Luck John  Hay   334 

Bangkolidye    Barry   Pain    334 

Pens^es  De  Noel   A.  D.   Godley    336 

A  Ballade  of  an  Anti-Puritan G.  K.  Chesterton 337 

Pessimism Newton  Mackintosh   338 

Cynical   Ode  to  an   Ultra-Cynical 

Public    Charhs  Mackay    339 

Youth  and  Art Robert  Browning   339 

The  Bachelor's  Dream Thomas  Hood   342 

All  Things  Except  Myself  I  Know  .Francois  Villon 343 

The  Joys  of  Marriage   Charles  Cotton    344 

The  Third  Proposition    Madeline  Bridges   345 

The  Ballad  of  Cassandra  Brown  . . .  Helen  Gray  Cone  345 

What's   in   a  Name  ?    R.  K.  Munkittrick    347 

Too  Late Fitz  Hugh  Ludlow 348 


xvi  Contents 

PAGE 

The  Annuity    George  Outram   350 

K.    K. — Can't    Calculate. Frances  M.   Whitcher   353 

Northern  Farmer    Lord  Tennyson   354 

Fin  de  Siecle Unknown    357 

Then   Ag'in Sam  Walter  Foss .   357 

The  Pessimist   Ben  King   358 

Without  and'  Within    James  Russell  Lowell   359 

Same  Old  Story Harry  B.  Smith    360 


VI:  EPIGRAMS 

Woman's  Will John  G.  Saxe    362 

Cynicus  to  W.  ShakesDeare   James  Kenneth  Stephen  ....  362 

Senex  to  Matt,  Prior James  Kenneth  Stephen  ....  362 

To  a  Blockhead   Alexander  Pope   362 

The  Fool  and  the  Poet   Alexander  Fope    363 

A  Rhymester  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge   . .  363 

Giles's    Hope    Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge    .  .  363 

Cologne Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge    .  .  363 

An  Eternal  Poem   Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge   .  .  364 

On  a  Bad  Singer Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge   . .  364 

Job Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge   .  .  364 

Reasons  for  Drinking  Dr.  Henry  Aldrich  364 

Smatterers    Samuel    Butler    365 

Hypocrisy Samuel    Butler 365 

To  Doctor  Empiric Ben  Jonson    365 

A  Remedy  Worse  than  the  Disease  .Matthew  Prior 365 

A  Wife   Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan  .  366 

The  Honey-Moon  Walter  Savage  Landor   ....  366 

Dido Richard  Porson 366 

An    Epitaph    George  John  Cayley   366 

On  Taking  a  Wife    Thomas  Moore 367 

Upon   Being   Obliged  to   Leave  a 

Pleasant  Party Thomas  Moore 367 

Some   Ladies    Frederick  Locker-Lampson  .  367 

On  a  Sense  of  Humor   Frederick  Locker-Lampson  .  z^7 

On  Hearing  a  Lady  Praise  a  Cer- 
tain Rev.  Doctor's  Eyes   George    Outram    368 

Epitaph  Intended  for  His  Wife   .  .  .John  Dryden 368 

To  a  Capricious  Friend    Joseph  Addison  368 . 

Which  is  Which   John  Byrom  368 

On    a    Full-Length     Portrait    of 

Beau  Marsh   Lord  Chesterfield   369 

On   Scotland    Cleveland    369 

Mendax Lessing    369 

To  a  Slow  Walker  and  Quick  Eater  .  Lessing    369 

What's  My  Thought  Like  ?  .  : Thomas  Moore    37° 

Of   All   the    Men Thomas  Moore    37o 

On  Butler's  Monument Rev.  Samuel  Wesley   370 

A  Conjugal  Conundrum   Unknown    37' 


VII:  BURLESQUE 

Lovers  and  a  Reflection   Charles  Stuart  Calverley  .  . .  372 

Our  Hymn    Oliver  Wendell  Holmes    . .  .  374 

"  Soldier,  Rest !  "   Robert  J.  Burdette   374 

Imitation     Anthonv  C.  Deane  375 

The  Mighty  Must W.  S.  Gilbert   376 

Midsummer    Madness    Unknoivn    377 

Mavrone   Arthur  Guiterman    378 


Contents  xvii 

PAGE 

Lilies  Don  Marquis  379 

For  I   am   Sad    -. . . .  Don  Marquis  379 

A  Little  Swirl  of  Vers  Libre    Thomas  H.  Ybarra   380 

Young  Lochinvar   Unknown    381 

Imagiste  Love  Lines   Unknown ,   383 

Bygones    Bert  Leston  Taylor    .......    383 

Justice  to  Scotland Unknown    384 

Lament  of  the  Scotch-Irish  E-K\\t. .  James  Jeffrey    Roche    385 

A  Song  of  Sorrow   Charles  BQttell  Loomis   ....   386 

The  Rejected  "  National  Hymns  ".  .Robert  H.  Newell  387 

The  Editor's  Wooing   Robert  H.  Newell 389 

The  Baby's  Debut    James  Smith    390 

The   Cantelope    Bayard  Taylor 393 

Never  Forget   Your  Parents    Franklin  P.  Adams   394 

A  Girl  was  Too  Reckless  of  Gram- 
mar     Guy  Wetmore  Carryl 395 

Behold  the  Deeds !   H.   C.  Bunner    397 

Villon's  Straight  Tip  to  All  Cross 

Coves William  Ernest  Henley   ....    399 

Culture  in   the   Slums    William  Ernest  Henley   ....   400 

The  Lawyer's  Invocation  to  Spring  .Henry  Howard  Brownell   ..   402 

North,  East,  South,  and  West Unknown    403 

Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam Barry  Pain  404 

An  Idyll  of  Phatte  and  Leene   ....  Unknown    406 

The   House   that  Jack   Built    Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  ...   407 

Palabras   Grandiosas    Bayard  Taylor 407 

A   Love  Playnt   Godfrey   Turner    408 

Darwinity  Herman  C.  Merivalc   409 

Select    Passages    from    a    Coming 

Poet F.  Anstey  410 

The  Romaunt  of  Humpty  Dumpty  . .  Henry  S.   Leigh .   411 

The   Wedding    Thomas  Hood    Jr 412 

In    Memoriam    Technicam    Thomas  Hood.   Ir 413 

*'  Songs  Without  Words  "    Robert  J.  Burdetle   413 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Cock  Owen  Seaman   414 

Presto  Furioso    Owen  Seaman   417 

To  Julia  in  Shooting  Togs Owen  Seaman   418 

Farewell    Bert  Leston  Taylor    419 

Here  is  the  Tale    Anthony  C.  Deane   421 

The  Willows    Bret  Harte   423 

A  Ballad Guy  Wetmore  Carryl 426 

The  Translated  Way   Franklin  P.  Adams    427 

Commonplaces Rudyard  Kipling 427 

Angelo  Orders   His  Dinner   Bayard    Taylor    428 

The  Promissory  Note   Bayard  Taylor 429 

Camerados    Bayard    Taylor    430 

The   Last  Ride  Together    James  Kenneth  Stephen  ....   431 

Imitation  of  Walt  Whitman    Unknown    434 

Salad   Mortimer  Collins    436 

If    Mortimer  Collins 436 

The  Jabberwocky  of  Authors    Harry  Persons  Taber 437 

The  Town  of  Nice    Herman  C.  Merivale   438 

The   Willow-Tree    W.  M.  Thackeray   439 

A  Ballade  of  Ballade-Mongers   Augustus  M.  Moore 441 


VIII:  BATHOS 

The  Confession  Richard  Harris  Barham    .  . .  443 

f"  Thomas  Ingoldsby  "1 

If  You  Have  Seen Thomas  Moore   444 

Circumstance   Frederick  Locker-Lampson   .  444 

Elegy Arthur   Guiterman    445 


xviii  Contents 

PAGE 

Our  Traveler H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell   . .  445 

Optimism    N.ewton    Mackintosh    445 

The  Declaration   N.  P.   Willis   446 

He  Came  to  Pay   Parmenas  Mix 447 

The  Forlorn  One Richard  Harris  Barhani    . . .  449 

I"  Thomas  Jngoldsby  "J 

Rural  Raptures   Unknown    450 

A  Fragment Unknown    450 

The  Bitter  Bit    William  E.  Ayloun 451 

Comfort  in  Affliction William  E.  Aytoiin 453 

The  Husband's  Petition    William  E.  Aytoun 454 

Lines  Written  After  a  Battle Unknown    456 

Lines   Unknown    456 

The  Imaginative  Crisis Unknown    457 


IX:  PARODY 

The  Higher  Pantheism  in  a  Nut- 
Shell  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  458 

Nephelidia    Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  459 

Up  the  Spout Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  460 

In  Memoriam    Cuthbert  Bede 463 

Lucy  Lake   Newton  Mackintosh 463 

The  Cock  and  the  Bull   Charles  Stuart   Calverley   . .  464 

Ballad    Charles  Stuart  Calverley    . .   467 

Disaster ; . ; Charles  Stuart  Calverley    . .   469 

Wordsworthian  Reminiscence Unknown    470 

Inspect  Us   Edith   Daniell    471 

The  Messed  Damozel Charles  Hanson   Towne    ...   471 

A  Melton  Mowbray  Pork-Pie   Richard  le  Gallienne  472 

Israfiddlestrings    Unknown    472 

After  Dilettante  Concetti   H.  D.  Traill 474 

Whenceness  of  the  Which Unknown    476 

The  Little  Star  Unknown    476 

The  Original  Lamb   Unknown    477 

Sainte  Marg^rie    Unknown    477 

Robert  Frost   Louis   Untermeyer    479 

Owen  Seaman  Louis  Untermeyer 480 

The  Modern  Hiawatha   Unknown    482 

Somewhere-in-Europe-Wocky    .....  F.  G.  Hartswick 482 

Rigid  Body  Sings /.  C.  Maxwell   483 

A  Ballad  of  High  Endeavor Unknown    484 

Father  William  Lewis   Carroll    485 

The  Poets  at  Tea Barry   Pain    486 

How  Often Ben  King 489 

If  I  Should  Die  To-Night Ben  King   489 

"  The  Day  is  Done  "    Phoebe  Cary    490 

Jacob Phoebe  Cary    491 

Ballad  of  the  Canal .Phoebe  Cary    492 

"  There's  a  Bower  of  Beanvines  "  .  .  Phoebe  Cary   493 

Reuben    Phoebe  Cary   493 

The  Wife   Phoebe  Cary    494 

When  Lovely  Woman   Phoebe  Cary    494 

John  Thomson's  Daughter Phoebe  Cary   494 

A  Portrait   John  Keats 496 

Annabel   Lee Stanley  Huntley 497 

Home   Sweet    Home   with   Varia- 
tions   H.  C.  Bunner   498 

An  Old  Song  by  New  Singers A.    C.    Wilkie    :......   506 

More  Impressions Oscuro   Wildgoose    509 

Nursery  Rhymes  &  la  Mode    Unknown    509 

A  Maudle-In  Ballad Unknown    510 


Contents  xix 

PAGE 

Gillian Unknown    Sn 

Extracts    from    the    Rubaiyat    of 

Omar  Cayenne Gelett   Burgess    512 

Diversions  of  the  Re-Echo  Club  . . .  Carolyn  Wells  515 

Styx  River  Anthology  Carolyn    Wells    521 

Answer  to  Master  Wittier's  Song, 

"  Shall  I,  Wasting  in  Despair?  " .Ben  Jonson 526 

Song  of  the  Springtide Unknown 527 

The  Village  Choir   Unknown    528 

My  Foe Unknown    529 

Nursery  Song  in  Pidgin  English  . . .  Unknown    530 

Father  William Unknown    531 

A  Poe-'em  of  Passion  C.  F.  Lummis   532 

How  the  Daughters  Come  Down 

at  Dunoon    H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell   .  .  533 

To  an  Importunate  Host Unknown    534 

Cremation William  Sawyer    534 

An  Imitation  of  Wordsworth Catharine  M.  Fanshawe  ....  535 

The  Lay  of  the  Love-Lorn Aytoun  and  Martin    .......  537 

Only   Seven    Henry  S.  Leigh    543 

'Twas  Ever  Thus   Henry  S.  Leigh    544 

Foam  and  Fangs    Walter  Parke    544 


X:  NARRATIVE 

Little  Billee  W.  M,  Thackeray  546 

The  Crystal   Palace W.  M.   Thackeray    547 

The   Wofle   New   Ballad   of   Jane 

Roney  and  Mary  Brown W.  M.  Thackeray 552 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  Unknown    554 

On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite  Cat  . . .  Thomas  Grav 557 

Misadventures  at  Margate   Richard  Harris  Barham    ...  558 

I"  Thomas  Ingoldsby  "1 
The     Gouty     Merchant    and     the 

Stranger    Horace  Smith   563 

The    Diverting    History    of    John 

Gilpin    William  Cowper   564 

Paddy   O'Rafther    Samuel  Lover   571 

Here  She  Goes  and  There  She  Goes  James  Nack   572 

The  Quaker's  Meeting Samuel  Lover    576 

The  Jester  Condemned  to  Death   . .  Horace  Smith   578 

The  Deacon's  Masterpiece Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   .  .  .  580 

The  Ballad  of  the  Oysterman   Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   .  .  .  583 

The  Well  of  St.  Keyne   Robert  Soitthey  584 

The  Jackdaw   of  Rheims    Richard  Harris  Barham 586 

I"  Thomas  Ingoldsby  "1 

The  Knight  and  the  Lady   Richard  Harris  Barham    .  .  .  590 

["  Thomas  Ingoldsby  "J 

An  Eastern   Question    H.  M.  Paull 598 

My  Aunt's  Spectre Mortimer  Collins    600 

Casey  at  the  Bat    Ernest  Lawrence  Thayer   .  .  601 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin   Robert  Browning   603 

The  Goose Lord  Tennyson   611 

The  Ballad  of  Charity   Charles  Godfrey  Leland  ...  613 

The   Post   Captain    Charles  E.  Carryl 615 

Robinson   Crusoe's  Story    Charles  E.  Carryl 617 

Ben  Blufl  Thomas  Hood   619 

The  Pilgrims  and  the  Peas lohn  Wolcot 621 

Tarn  O'Shanter Robert  Burns 623 

That     Gentleman     from      Boston 

Town   Joaquin  Miller 629 

The  Yarn  of  the  "Nancy  BeU"...W^.  S.  Gilbert   63a 


XX  Contents 

PAGE 

Ferdinando  and  Elvira   W.  S.  Gilbert   635 

Gentle  Alice  Brown   IV.  S.   Gilbert    639 

The  Story  of  Prince  Agib PV.  S.   Gilbert    641 

Sir  Guy  the  Crusader  IV.  S.  Gilbert    644 

Kitty  Wants  to  Write Gelett  Burgess 646 

Dighton  is  Engaged Gelett   Burgess    647 

Plain     Language     from     Truthful 

James     Bret   Harte    648 

The  Society  Upon  the  Stanisalaus. .  Bret   Harte    650 

"  Jim  " Bret    Harte    652 

William  Brown   of  Oregon    Joaquin   Miller    653 

Little  Breeches    John  Hay   657 

The  Enchanted  Shirt John  Hay 658 

Jim  Bludso John  Hay 661 

Wreck  of  the  "  lulie  Plante  " Wlliam  Henry  Drummond  . .  662 

The  Alarmed  Skipper James  T.  Fields   664 

The   Elderly   Gentleman    George  Canning 665 

Saying  Not  Meaning   William  Basil  Wake    666 

Hans  Breitmann's  Party   Charles  Godfrey  Leland   .  .  .  668 

Ballad  by  Hans  Breitmann    Charles  Godfrey  Leland   .  .  .  669 

Grampy  Sings  a  Song Holman  F.  Day   670 

The  First  Banjo   Jrwin   Russell    672 

The  Romance  of  the  Carpet   Robert  J.  Burdette  674 

Hunting  of  the  Snark.  The Lewis  Carroll   676 

The  Old   Man   and  Jim    James  Whitcomb  Riley   ....  678 

A    Sailor's    Yarn    James  Jeffrey  Roche    680 

The  Converted  Cannibals  G.  E.  Farrow   683 

The  Retired  Pork-Butcher  and  the 

Spook G.  E.  Farrow    685 

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride   John  Greenleaf  Whitlier  . .  .  688 

Darius    Green    and    His    Flying- 
Machine    John   Townsend    Trowbridge  690 

A  Great  Fight Robert   H.  Newell    697 

The  Donnybrook  Jig   Viscount  Dillon    700 

Unfortunate  Miss  Bailey Unknown    702 

The  Laird  o'  Cockpen  Lad\  Nairne 703 

A  Wedding Sir  John  Suckling   704 

XI;  TRIBUTE 

The  Ahkond  of  Swat   Edward   Lear 708 

The  Ahkoond  of  Swat   George  Thomas  Lanigan  ...  710 

Dirge  of  the  Moolla  of  Kotal George  Thomas  Lanigan  . . .  712 

The  Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse W.  M.   Thackeray    714 

Ould   Doctor  Mack    Alfred  Perceval  Graves  ....  717 

Father  O'Flynn   Alfred  Perceval  Graves    ...  719 

The  Bald-headed  Tyrant   Vandyne,  Mary  E 720 

Barney  Mcgee   Richard  Hovey    721 

Address  to  the  Toothache   Robert   Burns    724 

A  Farewell  to  Tobacco * Charles  Lamb    726 

John  Barleycorn   Robert   Burns    730 

Stanzas   to    Pale   Ale    Unknown 732 

Ode  to  Tobacco Charles  Stuart  Calverley   . .  732 

Sonnet  to  a  Clam   John  G.  Saxe 734 

To    a    Fly    John   Wolcot    734 

Ode  to  a  Bobtailed  Cat Unknown    736 

A  Dirge William  Augustus  Crofful  . .  737 

XII:  WHIMSEY 

An  Elegy Oliver  Goldsmith 740 

Parson   Gray    Oliver  Goldsmith 741 

The  Irishman  and  the  Lady  William  Maginn  742 


Contents  xxi 

PAGE 

The  Cataract  of  Lodore  Robert   Southey    743 

Lay  of  the  Deserted  Influenzaed   .  .  H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell   .  .   746 

Bellagcholly  Days Unknown    747 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail   John  G.  Saxe    748 

Echo John  G.  Saxe   750 

Song Joseph   Addison    751 

A  Gentle  Echo  on  Woman Dean   Swift    752 

Lay    of    Ancient    Rome    Thomas  R.  Ybarra  753 

A  New  Song   John  Gay    754 

The  American  Traveller Robert  H.  Newell   757 

The  Zealless  Xylographer Mary  Mapes  Dodge 759 

The  Old  Line  Fence   ...A.   IV.  Bellaw   760 

O-U-G-H Charles  Battell  Loomis 761 

Enigma  on  the  Letter  H  Catherine  M.  Fanshawe 762 

Travesty     of      Miss     Fanshawe's 

Enigma   Horace  Mayhew   y^Z 

An  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad 

Dog    Oliver  Goldsmith    764 

An  Epitaph Matthew  Prior    76s 

Old  Grimes Albert  Gorton  Greene 766 

The  Endless  Song Ruth  McEnery  Stuart    768 

The  Hundred  Best  Books   Mostyn   T.   Pigott    769 

The   Cosmic   Egg    Unknown    771 

Five  Wines    Robert  Herrick    772 

A  Rhyme  for  Musicians   E.  Lemke    772 

My  Madeline Walter   Parke    77i 

Susan   Simpson    Unknown    774 

The  March  to  Moscow Robert  Southey  775 

Half   Hours  with   the  Classics    H.  J.  DeBurgh    779 

On  the  Oxford   Carrier    John    Milton    780 

Ninety-Nine  in  the  Shade   Rossiter  Johnson 781 

The  Triolet    William  Ernest  Henley 782 

The  Rondeau Austin  Dobson    782 

Life    Unknown    783 

Ode  to  the  Human  Heart  Laman  Blanchard 784 

A  Strike  Among  the  Poets Unknown    785 

Whatever  Is,  Is  Right Laman  Blanchard 786 

Nothing Richard   Porson    786 

Dirge Unknown    787 

O  D  V   Unknown    788 

A  Man  of  Words Unknown    . . .  v 79° 

Similes Unknown    791 

No  !    Thomas  Hood  792 

Faithless  Sally  Brown Thomas  Hood   792 

Tim    Turpin     Thomas  Hood   795 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray   Thomas  Hood 797 

Sally  Simpkin's  Lament   Thomas  Hood    * . .  .   800 

Death's    Ramble    Thomas  Hood   801 

Panegyric  on  the  Ladies Unknown    803 

Ambiguous  Lines   Unknown 804 

Surnames    James  Smith -   804 

A    Ternary    of    Littles,    Upon    a 

P;pk'n  of  Jelly  Sent  to  a  Lady  .  .  Robert  Herrick   . -.806 

A    Carman's    Account    of    a    Law  "  - 

Suit    Sir  David  Lindesay   . . ... . _i i ^07 

Out  of  Sight,  Out  of  Mind Barnaby  Googe   ;:.  iaa'&oy 

Noncrtongpaw Charles  Dibdin .^i  .*v*t8o8 

Logical  English Unknown 809 

Logic   Unknown    809 

The  Careful  Penman   Unknown 810 

Questions  with  Answers Unknown    810 

Conjugal   Conjugations    A,   W.  Bellaw 810 

Love's  Moods  and  Senses Unknown 812 

The  Siege  of  Belgrade  Unknown 813 


xxii  Contents 

PAGE 

The  Happy   Man    Gilles  M.^nage   814 

The    Bells Unknown    816 

Takings Thomas  Hood,  Jr 817 

A  Bachelor's  Mono-Rhyme Charles  Mackay    817 

The  Art  of  Bookkeeping Laman   Blanchard    818 

An    Invitation    to   the    Zoological 

Gardens Unknown    822 

A  Nocturnal  Sketch Thomas  Hood   823 

Lovelilts   Marion  Hill  824 

Jocosa    Lyra    Austin  Dobson 824 

To  a  Thesaurus Franklin  P.  Adams   825 

The  Future  of  the  Classics    Unknown    826 

Cautionary  Verses   Theodore  Hook  828 

The  War :  A-Z John  R.  Edwards  829 

Lines  to  Miss  Florence  Hunting- 
don   Unknown    830 

To  My  Nose   Alfred  A.  Forrester 832 

A  Polka  Lyric Barclay  Philips .  832 

A   Catalectic  Monody    Unknown    833 

Ode  for  a  Social  Meeting Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   .  .  .  833 

The  Jovial  Priest's  Confession Leigh  Hunt   834 

Limericks   Carolyn  Wells  835 


XIII:  NONSENSE 

Lunar   Stanzas    Henry  Coggswell  Knight   . .   841 

The  Whango  Tree   Unknown    842 

Three  Children   Unknown    843 

'Tis  Midnight Unknown    843 

Cossimbazar Henry  S.  Leigh  843 

An  Unexpected  Fact  Edward  Cannon    844 

The   Cumberbunce    Paul  West   844 

Mr.  Finney's  Turnip Unknown    847 

Nonsense  Verses Charles  Lamb   848 

Like  to  the  Thundering  Tone Bishop  Corbet   848 

Aestivation ^ Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   . . .  849 

Uncle  Simon  and  Uncle  Jim Charles  Farrar  Browne  ....  849 

("  Art  emus    Ward  ") 

A  Tragic  Story  W.  M.  Thackeray  850 

Sonnet  Found  in  a  Deserted  Mad 

House    Unknown    851 

The  Jim-Jam  King  of  the  Jou-Jous  .  Alaric  Bertrand  Stuart  ....   85 j.. 

To  Marie   John  Bennett   852 

My  Dream   Unknown    853 

The  Rollicking  Mastodon Arthur    Macy 853 

The  Invisible  Bridge Gelett  Burgess 855 

The  Lazy  Roof Gelett  Burgess 855 

My  Feet   Gelett  Burgess 855 

Spirk  Troll-Derisive James  Whitcomb  Riley   ....  855 

The  Man  in  the  Moon James  Whitcomb  Riley   .      .   856 

The  Lugubrious  Whing-Whang James    Whitcomb   Rilev      ...858 

The  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo   Edward  Lear 859 

The  Jumbles Edward  Lear  862 

The  Pobble  Who  Has  no  Toes Edward  Lear  865 

The  New  Vestments Edward  Lear 866 

The  Two  Old  Bachelors  ., Edward  Lear  868 

Jabberwocky Lewis  Carroll    869 

Ways  and  Means   Lewis  Carroll    870 

Humpty  Dumpty's  Recitation    Lezvis  Carroll    872 

Some  Hallucinations   Lewis  Carroll    874 

Sing  for  the  Garish  Eye   W.  S.  Gilbert    875 

The  Shipwreck   E.  H.  Palmer   876 


Contents  xxiii 

***  PAGE 

Uffia Harriet  R.  White 877 

'Tis  Sweet  to  Roam Unknown    878 

Three  Jovial  Huntsmen    Unknown    878 

King  Arthur    Unknown    879 

Hyder  Iddle Unknown    879 

The  Ocean  Wanderer Unknown    879 

Scientific  Proof /.  W.  Foley   88p_. 

The  Thingumbob Unknown    882 

Wonders  of  Nature  IJnknown    882 

Lines  by  an  Old  Fogy Unknown    882 

A  Country  Summer  Pastoral Unknown    883 

Turvey  Top   William  Sawyer   884 

A  Ballad  of  Bedlam Unknown    886 


XIV :  NATURAL  HISTORY 

The  Fastidious  Serpent Henry  Johnstone 887 

The  Legend  of  the  First  Cam-u-el  . .  Arthur   Guiterman    888 

Unsatisfied  Yearning   R.  K.  Munkittrick 889 

Kindly   Advice    Unknown    890 

Kindness   to   Animals    /.  Ashby-Sterry  891 

To  Be  or  Not  To  Be  Unknown    891 

The  Hen Matthew  Claudius 892 

Of  Baiting  the  Lion    Owen  Seaman   893 

The  Flamingo    Lewis  Gaylord  Clark   894 

Why  Doth  a  Pussy  Cat  ? Burges  Johnson    895 

The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter  .  .  .  .Lewis  Carroll 896 

Nirvana Unknown    900 

The  Catfish    Oliver  Herford   900 

War  Relief Oliver  Herford 901 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat Edward    Lear    901 

Mexican   Serenade    Arthur  Guiterman 902_ 

Orphan  Born   Robert  J.  Burdette   903 

Divided  Destinies Rudyard  Kipling 904 

The  Viper Hilaire  Belloc   906 

The  Llama Hilaire  Belloc   906 

The  Yak Hilaire  Belloc   906 

The  Frog Hilaire  Belloc   907 

The  Microbe    Hilaire  Belloc 907 

The  Great  Black  Crow Philip  James  Bailey 907 

The  Colubriad William  Cowper   909 

The  Retired  Cat William  Cowper   910 

A  Darwinian  Ballad Unknown    913 

The   Pig    Robert  Southey  9U 

A  Fish  Story   Henry  A.  Beers 916- 

The   Cameronian    Cat    Unknown    917 

The  Young  Gazelle    Walter  Parke 918 

The  Ballad  of  the  Emeu Bret  Harte   921 

The  Turtle  and  Flam/ingo James  Thomas  Fields 923 


XV:  JUNIORS 

Prior  to  Miss  Belle's  Appearance  . .  James  Whitcomb  Riley 925 

There  Was  a  Little  Girt   Unknown    926 

The  Naughty  Darkey  Boy   Unknown    927 

Dutch    Lullaby    Eugene   Field    928 

The  Dinkey-Bird Eugene   Field    929 

The  Little  Peach   Eugene  Field  931 

Counsel  to  Those  that  Eat Unknown    932 

Home    and    Mother    Mary   Mapes   Dodge    932 

Little  Orphant  Annie   James  Whitcomb  Riley 934 


xxiv  Contents  • 

PAGE 

A  Visit  From  St.  Nicholas Clement  Clarke  Moore   ....  935 

A  Nursery  Legend   Henry  S.  Leigh    937 

A  Little  Goose    Eliza  Sproat  Turner   93&- 

Leedle  Yawcob  Strauss Charles  Follen  Adams    ....  940 

A  Parental  Ode  to  My  Son.  Aged 

Three  Years  and  Five  Months  .  .  Thomas  Hood    941 

Little  Mamma   Charles  Henry  Webb 943 

The  Comical  Girl  M.  Pelham   946 

Bunches  of  Grapes Walter  Ramal   947 


XVI:  IMMORTAL  STANZAS 

The  Purple  Cow  Gelett  Burgess 948 

The  Young  Lady  of  Niger  Unknown    948 

The  Laughing  Willow   Oliver  Herford    948 

Said  Opie  Reed Julian     Street     and     James 

Montgomery    Flagg    948 

Manila Eugene  F.   Ware    949 

On  the  Aristocracy  of  Harvard  ....  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Bushnell  . . .   949 

On  the  Democracy  of  Yale Dean  Jones    949 

The  Herring Sir  Walter  Scott 949 

If  the  Man Samuel  Johnson    949 

The  Kilkenny  Cats Unknown    950 

Poor  Dear  Grandpapa   D'Arcy    W.    Thompson    950 

More   Walks    Richard  Harris  Barham  ....   950 

["  Thomas  Ingoldsby  "1 

Indifference    Unknown    050 

Madame  Sans  Souci Unknown    950 

A  Riddle Unknown    951 

If   Unknown    951 


THE  BOOK   OF 
HUMOROUS  VERSE 


I 

BANTER 

THE  PLAYED-OUT  HUMOURIST 

Quixotic  is  his  enterprise  and  hopeless  his  adventure  is, 
Who  seeks  for  jocularities  that  haven't  yet  been  said; 
The  world  has  joked  incessantly  for  over  fifty  centuries, 

And  every  joke  that's  possible  has  long  ago  been  made. 
I  started  as  a  humourist  with  lots  of  mental  fizziness, 

But  humour  is  a  drug  which  it's  the  fashion  to  abuse; 
For  my  stock-in-trade,  my  fixtures  and  the  good-will  of  the 
business 
No  reasonable  offer  I  am  likely  to  refuse. 
And  if  anybody  choose 
He  may  circulate  the  news 
That  no  reasonable  offer  I  am  likely  to  refuse. 

Oh,  happy  was  that  humourist — the  first  that  made  a  pun  at 
all— 
Who  when  a  joke  occurred  to  him,  however  poor  and  mean, 
Was  absolutely  certain  that  it  never  had  been  done  at  all — 
How  popular  at  dinners  must  that  humourist  have  been! 
Oh,  the  days  when  some  step-father  for  a  query  held  a  handle 
out, — 
The  door-mat  from  the  scraper,  is  it  distant  very  far? 
And  when  no  one  knew  where  Moses  was  when  Aaron  put  the 
candle  out. 
And  no  one  had  discovered  that  a  door  could  be  a-jar ! 
But  your  modem  hearers  are 
In  their  tastes  particular, 
And  they  sneer  if  you  inform  them  that  a  door  can  be  a  jar ! 

In  search  of  quip  and  quiddity  IVe  sat  all  day  alone,  apart — 
And  all  that  I  could  hit  on  as  a  problem  was — to  find 

Analogy  between  a  scrag  of  mutton  and  a  Bony-part, 
Which  offers  slight  employment  to  the  speculative  mind. 

25 


26  '''       '  '-'   "'  ''■  ^  '-'  ^  Banter 

'<^^o)i*c' ;y,(Eni  ;  phiiiipt  Jcill  4t   very    good,    however   great    your 
charity — 
It's  not  the  sort  of  humour  that  is  greeted  with  a  shout — 
And  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  my  mine  of  jocularity, 
In  present  Anno  Domini  is  worked  completely  out! 
Though  the  notion  you  may  scout, 
I  can  prove  beyond  a  doubt 
That  my  mine  of  jocularity  is  worked  completely  out ! 

iv'  S.  Gilbert. 

THE  PRACTICAL  JOKER 

Oh,  what  a  fund  of  joy  jocund  lies  hid  in  harmless 
hoaxes ! 

What  keen  enjoyment  springs 
Fromtjheap  and  simple  things! 
What    deep    delight   from   sources    trite    inventive 
humour  coaxes, 

That  pain  and  trouble  brew 
For  every  one  but  you ! 

Gunpowder  placed  inside  its  waist  improves  a  mild 
Havana, 

Its  unexpected  flash 

Burns  eyebrows  and  moustache. 
When  people  dine  no  kind  of  wine  beats  ipecacuanha, 

But  common  sense  suggests 

You  keep  it  for  your  guests — 

Then  naught  annoys  the  organ  boys  like  throwing 
red  hot  coppers. 

And  much  amusement  bides  * 

In  common  butter  slides; 
And  stringy  snares  across  the  stairs  cause  unexpected 
croppers. 

Coal  scuttles,  recollect, 
Produce  the  same  effect. 

A  man  possessed 

Of  common  sense 
Need  not  invest 

At  great  expense — 


The  Practical  Joker  27 

It  does  not  call 

For  pocket  deep, 
These  jokes  are  all 

Extremely  cheap. 

If  you  commence  with  eighteenpence — it's  all  you'll 

have  to  pay; 
You  may  command  a  pleasant  and  a  most  instructive 

day. 

A  good  spring  gun  breeds  endless  fun,  and  makes 
men  jump  like  rockets — 

And  turnip  heads  on  posts 
Make  very  decent  ghosts. 

Then  hornets  sting  like  anything,  when  placed  in 
waistcoat  pockets — 

Burnt  cork  and  walnut  juice 
Are  not  without  their  use. 

No  fun  compares  with  easy  chairs  whose  seats  are 
stuffed  with  needles — 

Live  shrimps  their  patience  tax 
When  put  down  people's  backs. 

Surprising,  too,  what  one  can  do  with  a  pint  of  fat 
black  beetles — 

And  treacle  on  a  chair 
^  Will  make  a  Quaker  swear! 

Then  sharp  tin  tacks 

And  pocket  squirts — 
And  cobbler's  wax 

For  ladies'  skirts — 

And  slimy  slugs 

On  bedroom  floors — 
And  water  jugs 

On  open  doors — 

Prepared    with    these    cheap    properties,    amusing 

tricks  to  play 
Upon  a  friend  a  man  may  spend  a  most  delightful 

day.  w,  S.  Gilbert. 


28  Banter 


TO  PHCEBE 

"  Gentle,  modest  little  flower, 

Sweet  epitome  of  May, 
Love  me  but  for  half  an  hour, 

Love  me,  love  me,  little  fay." 
Sentences  so  fiercely  flaming 

In  your  tiny,  shell-like  ear, 
I  should  always  be  exclaiming 

If  I  loved  you,  Phoebe  dear. 

"  Smiles  that  thrill  from  any  distance 
Shed  upon  me  while  I  sing! 
Please  ecstaticize  existence, 

Love  me,  oh,  thou  fairy  thing !  " 
Words  like  these,  outpouring  sadly, 

You'd  perpetually  hear. 
If  I  loved  you  fondly,  madly; — 
But  I  do  not,  Phoebe  dear. 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 


MALBROUCK 

Malbrouck,  the  prince  of  commanders, 
Is  gone  to  the  war  in  Flanders;  ^ 

His  fame  is  like  Alexander's; 
But  when  will  he  come  home? 


Perhaps  at  Trinity  Feast,  or 
Perhaps  he  may  come  at  Easter. 
Egad !  he  had  better  make  haste,  or 
We  fear  he  may  never  come. 


For  Trinity  Feast  is  over. 
And  has  brought  no  news  from  Dover; 
And  Easter  is  past,  moreover, 
And  Malbrouck  still  delays. 


Malbrouck  29 

Milady  in  her  watch-tower 
Spends  many  a  pensive  hour, 
Not  well  knowing  why  or  how  her 
Dear  lord  from  England  stays. 

While  sitting  quite  forlorn  in 
That  tower,  she  spies  returning 
A  page  clad  in  deep  mourning, 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow. 

"  O  page,  prithee,  come  faster! 
What  news  do  you  bring  of  your  master? 
I  fear  there  is  some  disaster, 
Your  looks  are  so  full  of  woe." 

"  The  news  I  bring,  fair  lady," 
With  sorrowful  accent  said  he, 
"  Is  one  you  are  not  ready 
So  soon,  alas!  to  hear. 

"  But  since  to  speak  I'm  hurried," 
Added  this  page,  quite  flurried, 
"  Malbrouck  is  dead  and  buried !  " 
(And  here  he  shed  a  tear.) 

"  He's  dead!  he's  dead  as  a  herring! 
For  I  beheld  his  'herring,' 
And  four  officers  transferring 
Ilis  corpse  away  from  the  field. 

"  One  officer  carried  his  sabre. 
And  he  carried  it  not  without  labour. 
Much  envying  his  next  neighbour, 
Who  only  bore  a  shield. 

"  The  third  was  helmet-bearer — 
That  helmet  which  on  its  wearer 
Filled  all  who  saw  with  terror. 
And  covered  a  hero's  brains. 


30  Banter 

"  Now,  having  got  so  far,  I 
Find  that  (by  the  Lord  Harry!) 
Tho  fourth  is  left  nothing  to  carry; 
So  there  the  thing  remains." 

Translated  by  Father  Proul 


MARK  TWAIN:  A  PIPE  DREAM 

Well  I  recall  how  first  I  met 

Mark  Twain — an  infant  barely  three 

Rolling  a  tiny  cigarette 

While  cooing  on  his  nurse's  knee. 

Since  then  in  every  sort  of  place 

I've  met  with  Mark  and  heard  him  joke, 

Yet  how  can  I  describe  his  face? 
I  never  saw  it  for  the  smoke. 

At  school  he  won  a  smohersMp, 

At  Harvard  College  (Cambridge,  Mass.) 

His  name  was  soon  on  every  lip, 

They  made  him  "  smoker  "  of  his  class. 

Who  will  forget  his  smoking  bout 
With  Mount  Vesuvius — our  cheers — 

When  Mount  Vesuvius  went  out 
And  didn't  smoke  again  for  years? 

The  news  was  flashed  to  England's  King, 
Who  begged  Mark  Twain  to  come  and  stay, 

Offered  him  dukedoms — anything 
To  smoke  the  London  fog  away. 

But  Mark  was  firm.    "  I  bow,"  said  he, 

"  To  no  imperial  command, 
No  ducal  coronet  for  me, 

My  smoke  is  for  my  native  land ! " 


From  a  Full  Heart  31 

For  Mark  there  waits  a  brighter  crown ! 

When  Peter  comes  his  card  to  read — 
He'll  take  the  sign  "  No  Smoking  "  down, 

Then  Heaven  will  be  Heaven  indeed. 

Oliver  Her  ford. 


FKOM  A  FULL  HEART 

In  days  of  peace  my  fellow-men 

Eightly  regarded  me  as  more  like 
A  Bishop  than  a  Major-Gen., 

And  nothing  since  has  made  me  warlike; 
But  when  this  age-long  struggle  ends 

And  I  have  seen  the  Allies  dish  up 
The  goose  of  Hindenburg — oh,  friends ! 

I  shall  out-bish  the  mildest  Bishop. 

When  the  War  is  over  and  the  Kaisers  out  of  print 
I'm  going  to  buy  some  tortoises  and  watch  the  beggars  sprint ^ 
When  the  War  is  over  and  the  sword  at  last  we  sheathe 
I'm  going  to  Jceep  a  jelly-fish  and  listen  to  it  breathe. 

I  never  really  longed  for  gore. 

And  any  taste  for  red  corpuscles 
That  lingered  with  me  left  before 

The  German  troops  had  entered  Brussels. 
In  early  days  the  Colonel's  "  'Shun !  " 

Froze  me;  and  as  the  war  grew  older 
The  noise  of  some  one  else's  gun 

Left  me  considerably  colder. 

When  the  War  is  over  and  the  battle  has  been  won 
I'm  going  to  buy  a  barnacle  and  take  it  for  a  run; 
When  the  War  is  over  and  the  German  fleet  we  sinJc 
I'm  going  to  keep  a  silkworm's  egg  and  listen  to  it  think. 

The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart — 

It  may  be  so,  but  not  lieutenants; 
Dawn  after  weary  dawn  I  start 

The  never  ending  round  of  penance; 


32  Banter 

One  rock  amid  the  welter  stands 

On  which  my  gaze  is  fixed  intently: 
An  after-life  in  quiet  lands 

Lived  very  lazily  and  gently. 

When  the  War  is  over  and  we've  done  the  Belgians  proud 
I'm  going  to  Iceep  a  chrysalis  and  read  to  it  aloud; 
When  the  War  is  over  and  we've  finished  up  the  sliow 
I'm  going  to  plant  a  lemon  pip  and  listen  to  it  grow. 

Oh,  I'm  tired  of  the  noise  and  turmoil  of  battle, 
And  I'm  even  upset  by  the  lowing  of  cattle, 
And  the  clang  of  the  bluebells  is  death  to  my  liver, 
And  the  roar  of  the  dandelion  gives  me  a  shiver. 
And  a  glacier,  in  movement,  is  much  too  exciting. 
And  I'm  nervous,  when  standing  on  one,  of  alighting — 
Give  me  Peace;  that  is  all,  that  is  all  that  I  seek.  .    .    . 
Say,  starting  on  Saturday  week. 

A.  A.  Milne. 


THE  ULTIMATE  JOY 

I  HAVE  felt  the  thrill  of  passion  in  the  poet's  mystic  book 
And  I've  lingered  in  delight  to  catch  the  rhythm  of  the  brook; 
I've  felt  the  ecstasy  that  comes  when  prima  donnas  reach 
For  upper  C  and  hold  it  in  a  long,  melodious  screech. 
And  yet  the  charm  of  all  these  blissful  memories  fades  away 
As  I  think  upon  the  fortune  that  befell  the  other  day. 
As  I  bring  to  recollection,  with  a  joyous,  wistful  sigh. 
That  I  woke  and  felt  the  need  of  extra  covers  in  July.  ^ 

Oh,  eerie  hour  of  drowsiness — 'twas  like  a  fairy  spell. 
That  respite  from  the  terrors  we  have  known,  alas,  so  well, 
The  malevolent  mosquito,  with  a  limp  and  idle  bill, 
Hung  supinely  from  the  ceiling,  all  exhausted  by  his  chill. 
And  the  early  morning  sunbeam  lost  his  customary  leer 
And  brought  a  gracious  greeting  and  a  prophecy  of  cheer; 
A  generous  affability  reached  up  from  earth  to  sky. 
When  I  woke  and  felt  the  need  of  extra  covers  in  July. 


Old  Fashioned  Fun  33 

In  every  life  there  comes  a  time  of  happiness  supreme, 
When  joy  becomes  reality  and  not  a  glittering  dream. 
Tis  less  appreciated,  but  it's  worth  a  great  deal  more 
Than  tides  which  taken  at  their  flood  lead  on  to  fortune's 

shore. 
How  vain  is  Art's  illusion,  and  how  potent  Nature's  sway 
When  once  in  kindly  mood  she  deigns  to   waft  our  woes 

away! 
And  the  memory  will  cheer  me,  though  all  other  pleasures 

fly, 

Of  how  I  woke  and  needed  extra  covers  in  July. 

Unknozvn. 


OLD  FASHIONED  FUN 

When  that  old  joke  was  new. 

It  was  not  hard  to  joke, 
And  puns  wo  now  pooh-pooh, 

Great  laughter  would  provoke. 

True  wit  was  seldom  heard. 

And  humor  shown  by  few. 
When  reign'd  King  George  the  Third, 

And  that  old  joke  was  new. 

It  passed  indeed  for  wit. 

Did  this  achievement  rare, ' 
When  down  your  friend  would  sit, 

To  steal  away  his  chair. 

You  brought  him  to  the  floor, 

You  bruised  him  black  and  blue, 
And  this  would  cause  a  roar. 

When  your  old  joke  was  new. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


34>  Banter 


WHEN  MOONLIKE  OEE  THE  HAZURE  SEAS 

When  moonlike  ore  the  hazure  seas 

In  soft  effulgence  swells, 
When  silver  jews  and  balmy  breaze 

Bend  down  the  Lily's  bells ; 
When  calm  and  deap,  the  rosy  sleap 

Has  lapt  your  seal  in  dreems, 
R  Hangeline!    R  lady  mine! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

I  mark  thee  in  the  Marble  all, 

Where  England's  loveliest  shine — 
I  say  the  fairest  of  them  hall 

Is  Lady  Hangeline. 
My  soul,  in  desolate  eclipse, 

With  recollection  teems— 
And  then  I  hask,  with  weeping  lips, 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

Away!  I  may  not  tell  thee  hall 

This  soughring  heart  endures — 
There  is  a  lonely  sperrit-call 

That  Sorrow  never  cures; 
There  is  a  little,  little  Star, 

That  still  above  me  beams; 
It  is  the  Star  of  Hope — but  ar! 

Dost  thou  remember  Jeames? 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


WHEN  THE  FROST  IS  ON  THE  PUNKIN 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the  shock. 
And  you  hear  the  kyouck  and  gobble  of  the  struttin'  turkey- 
cock, 
And  the  clackin*  of  the  guineys,  and  the  cluckin'  of  the  hens, 
And  the  rooster's  hallylooyer  as  he  tiptoes  on  the  fence; 
O  it's  then's  the  times  a  feller  is  a-feelin'  at  his  best. 
With  the  risin'  sun  to  greet  him  from  a  night  of  peaceful  rest, 


Two  Men  86 

As  he  leaves  the  house,  bare-headed,  and  goes  out  to  feed  the 

stock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the  shock. 

They's  something  kindo'  hearty-like  about  the  atmosphere, 
When  the  heat  of  summer's  over  and  the  coolin'  fall  is  here — 
Of  course  we  miss  the  flowers,  and  the  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
And  the  mumble  of  the  hummin'-birds  and  buzzin'  of  the 

bees; 
But  the  air's  so  appetisin';  and  the  landscape  through  the 

haze 
Of  a  crisp  and  sunny  morning  of  the  airly  autumn  days 
Is  a  pictur  that  no  painter  has  the  colorin'  to  mock — 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the  shock. 

The  husky,  rusty  rustle  of  the  tossels  of  the  corn. 
And  the  raspin'  of  the  tangled  leaves,  as  golden  as  the  morn ; 
The  stubble  in  the  furries — kindo'  lonesome-like,  but  still 
A-preachin'  sermons  to  us  of  the  barns  they  growed  to  fill; 
The  strawstack  in  the  medder,  and  the  reaper  in  the  shed; 
The  bosses  in  theyr  stalls  below — the  clover  overhead! — 
O,  it  sets  my  heart  a-clickin'  like  the  tickin'  of  a  clock, 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the  shock ! 

James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


TWO  MEN 

There  be  two  men  of  all  mankind 
That  I  should  like  to  know  about; 

But  search  and  question  where  I  will, 
I  cannot  ever  find  them  out. 

Melchizedek  he  praised  the  Lord, 
And  gave  some  wine  to  Abraham ; 

But  who  can  tell  what  else  he  did 
Must  be  more  learned  than  I  am. 

TTcalegon  he  lost  his  house 

When  Agamemnon  came  to  Troy; 
But  who  can  tell  me  who  he  was — 

111  pray  the  gods  to  give  him  joy. 


36  Banter 

There  be  two  men  of  all  mankind 
That  I'm  forever  thinking  on ; 

They  chase  me  everywhere  I  go, — 
Melchizedek,  Ucalegon. 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson. 


A  FAMILIAR  LETTER  TO  SEVERAL 
CORRESPONDENTS 

Yes,  write  if  you  want  to — there's  nothing  like  trying; 

Who  knows  what  a  treasure  your  casket  may  hold? 
I'll  show  you  that  rhyming's  as  easy  as  lying, 

If  you'll  listen  to  me  while  the  art  I  unfold. 

Here's  a  book  full  of  words:  one  can  choose  as  he  fancies, 
As  a  painter  his  tint,  as  a  workman  his  tool ;  . 

Just  think!   all  the  poems  and  plays  and  romances 
Were  drawn  out  of  this,  like  the  fish  from  a  pool ! 

You  can  wander  at  will  through  its  syllabled  mazes. 
And  take  all  you  want — not  a  copper  they  cost; 

What  is  there  to  hinder  your  picking  out  phrases 
For  an  epic  as  clever  as  "Paradise  Lost"? 

Don't  mind  if  the  index  of  sense  is  at  zero; 

Use  words  that  run  smoothly,  whatever  they  mean ; 
Leander  and  Lillian  and  Lillibullero 

Are  much  the  same  thing  in  the  rhyming  machine. 

There  are  words  so  delicious  their  sweetness  will  smother 
That  boarding-school  flavour  of  which  we're  afraid; 

There  is  "lush"  is  a  good  one  and  "swirl"  is  another; 
Put  both  in  one  stanza,  its  fortune  is  made. 

With  musical  murmurs  and  rhythmical  closes 

You  can  cheat  us  of  smiles  when  you've  nothing  to  tell ; 

You  hand  us  a  nosegay  of  milliner's  roses. 

And  we  cry  with  delight,  "  Oh,  how  sweet  they  do  smell !  " 


A  Familiar  Letter       '  37 

Perhaps  you  will  answer  all  needful  conditions 
For  winning  the  laurels  to  which  you  aspire, 

By  docking  the  tails  of  the  two  prepositions 
r  the  style  o'  the  bards  you  so  greatly  admire. 

As  for  subjects  of  verse,  they  are  only  too  plenty 
For  ringing  the  changes  on  metrical  chimes; 

A  maiden,  a  moonbeam,  a  lover  of  twenty, 

Have  filled  that  great  basket  with  bushels  of  rhymes. 

Let  me  show  you  a  picture — 'tis  far  from'  irrelevant — 
By  a  famous  old  hand  in  the  arts  of  design; 

'Tis  only  a  photographed  sketch  of  an  elephant; 

The  name  of  the  draughtsman  was  Rembrandt  of  Rhine. 

How  easy!  no  troublesome  colours  to  lay  on; 

It  can't  have  fatigued  him,  no,  not  in  the  least; 
A  dash  here  and  there  with  a  haphazard  crayon. 

And  there  stands  the  wrinkled-skinned,  baggy-limbed  beast. 

Just  so  with  your  verse — 'tis  as  easy  as  sketching; 

You  can  reel  off  a  song  without  knitting  your  brow, 
As  lightly  as  Rembrandt  a  drawing  or  etching; 

It  is  nothing  at  all,  if  you  only  know  how. 

Well,  imagine  you've  printed  your  volume  of  verses; 

Your  forehead  is  wreathed  with  the  garland  of  fame; 
Your  poem  the  eloquent  school-boy  rehearses; 

Her  album  the  school-girl  presents  for  your  name. 

Each  morning  the  post  brings  you  autograph  letters; 

You'll  answer  them  promptly — an  hour  isn't  much 
For  the  honour  of  sharing  a  page  with  your  betters, 

With  magistrates,  members  of  Congress,  and  such. 

Of  course  you're  delighted  to  serve  the  committees 
That  come  with  requests  from  the  country  all  round; 

You  would  grace  the  occasion  with  poems  and  ditties 

When  they've  got  a  new  school-house,  or  poor-house,  or 
pound. 


38  Banter 

With  a  hymn  for  the  saints,  and  a  song  for  the  sinners, 
You  go  and  are  welcome  wherever  you  please; 

You're  a  privileged  guest  at  all  manner  of  dinners; 
You've  a  seat  on  the  platform  among  the  grandees. 

At  length  your  mere  presence  becomes  a  sensation; 

Your  cup  of  enjoyment  is  filled  to  its  brim 
With  the  pleasure  Horatian  of  digitmonstration, 

As  the  whisper  runs  round  of  **  That's  he ! "  or  "  That's 
him!" 


But,  remember,  O  dealer  in  phrases  sonorous. 

So  daintily  chosen,  so  tunefully  matched. 
Though  you  soar  with  the  wings  of  the  cherubim  o'er  us, 

The  ovum  was  human  from  which  you  were  hatched. 

No  will  of  your  own,  with  its  puny  compulsion. 
Can  summon  the  spirit  that  quickens  the  lyre; 

It  comes,  if  at  all,  like  the  sibyl's  convulsion. 
And  touches  the  brain  with  a  finger  of  fire. 

So,  perhaps,  after  all,  it's  as  well  to  be  quiet. 
If  you've  nothing  you  think  is  worth  saying  in  prose, 

As  to  furnish  a  meal  of  their  cannibal  diet 
To  the  critics,  by  publishing,  as  you  propose. 

But  it's  all  of  no  use,  and  I'm  sorry  I've  written; 

I  shall  see  your  thin  volume  some  day  on  my  shelf; 
For  the  rhyming  tarantula  surely  has  bitten, 

And  music  must  cure  you,  so  pipe  it  yourself. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  HEIGHT  OF  THE  KIDICULOUS 

I  WROTE  some  lines  once  on  a  time 

In  wondrous  merry  mood. 
And  thought,  as  usual,  men  would  say 

They  were  exceeding  good. 


The  Height  of  the  Ridiculous  •    39 

They  were  so  queer,  so  very  queer, 

I  laughed  as  1  would  die; 
Albeit,  in  the  general  way, 

A  sober  man  am  I. 


I  called  my  servant,  and  he  came; 

How  kind  it  was  of  him. 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me. 

He  of  the  mighty  limb ! 

"  These  to  the  printer,"  I  exclaimed. 

And,  in  my  humorous  way, 
I  added  (as  a  trifling  jest), 

"  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay." 

He  took  the  paper,  and  I  watched. 

And  saw  him  peep  within; 
At  the  first  line  he  read,  his  face 

Was  all  upon  a  grin. 

He  read  the  next,  the  grin  grew  broad, 

And  shot  from  ear  to  ear; 
He  read  the  third,  a  chuckling  noise 

I  now  began  to  hear. 

The  fourth,  he  broke  into  a  roar; 

The  fifth,  his  waistband  split; 
The  sixth,  he  burst  five  buttons  off. 

And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eye, 

I  watched  that  wretched  man. 
And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 

As  funny  as  I  can. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


40     •  Banter 

SHAKE,  MULLEARY  AND  GO-ETHE 


I  HAVE  a  bookcase,  which  is  what 
Many  much  better  men  have  not. 
There  are  no  books  inside,  for  books, 
I  am  afraid,  might  spoil  its  looks. 
But  I've  three  busts,  all  second-hand, 
Upon  the  top.    You  understand 
I  could  not  put  them  underneath — 
Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-ethe. 


Shake  was  a  dramatist  of  note; 
He  lived  by  writing  things  to  quote, 
He  long  ago  put  on  his  shroud : 
Some  of  his  works  arc  rather  loud. 
His  bald-spot's  dusty,  I  suppose. 
I  know  there's  dust  upon  his  nose. 
I'll  have  to  give  each  nose  a  sheath — 
Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-ethe. 


Ill 

Mulleary's  line  was  quite  the  same; 
He  has  more  hair,  but  far  less  fame. 
I  would  not  from  that  fame  retrench — 
But  he  is  foreign,  being  French. 
Yet  high  his  haughty  head  he  heaves. 
The  only  one  done  up  in  leaves, 
They're  rather  limited  on  wreath — 
Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-ethe. 

IV 

Go-ethe  wrote  in  the  German  tongue: 
He  must  have  learned  it  very  young. 
His  nose  is  quite  a  butt  for  scoff. 
Although  an  inch  of  it  is  off. 


A  Rondelay  41 


He  did  quite  nicely  for  the  Dutch; 
But  here  he  doesn't  count  for  much. 
They  all  are  off  their  native  heath — 
Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-ethe. 


They  sit  there,  on  their  chests,  as  bland 

As  if  they  were  not  second-hand. 

I  do  not  know  of  what  they  think, 

Nor  why  they  never  frown  or  wink. 

But  why  from  smiling  they  refrain 

I  think  I  clearly  can  explain: 

They  none  of  them  could  show  much  teeth — 

Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-ethe. 

H.  C.  Bunner. 


A  RONDELAY 

Man  is  for  woman  made. 

And  woman  made  for  man: 

As  the   spur   is  for  the  jade, 

As  the  scabbard  for  the  blade, 
As  for  liquor  is  the  can. 

So  man's  for  woman  made, 
And  woman  made  for  man. 


As  the  sceptre  to  be  sway'd, 
As  to  night  the  serenade, 

As  for  pudding  is  the  pan, 

As  to  cool  us  is  the  fan. 
So  man's  for  woman  made. 

And  woman  made  for  man. 

Be  she  widow,  wife,  or  maid, 
Be  she  wanton,  be  she  staid. 
Be  she  well  or  ill  array'd, 
So  man's  for  woman  made. 
And  woman  made  for  man. 

Peter  A.  Motteux. 


42  Banter 


WINTER  DUSK 

TflE  prospect  is  bare  and  white, 
And  the  air  is  crisp  and  chill; 

While  the  ebon  wings  of  night 
Are  spread  on  the  distant  hill. 

The  roar  of  the  stormy  sea 

Seem  the  dirges  shrill  and  sharp 

That  winter  plays  on  the  tree — 
His  wild  ^olian  harp. 


In  the  pool  that  darkly  creeps 

In  ripples  before  the  gale, 
A  star  like  a  lily  sleeps 

And  wiggles  its  silver  tail. 

R.  K.  Munkit trick. 


COMIC  MISERIES 

My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  a-blaze. 
Don't  think  yourself  a  **  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz. 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can. 
It's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man! 

You're  at  an  evening  party,  with 

A  group  of  pleasant  folks, — 
You  venture  quietly  to  crack 

The  least  of  little  jokes, — 
A  lady  doesn't  catch  the  point, 

And  begs  you  to  explain — 
Alas  for  one  that  drops  a  jest 

And  takes  it  up  again  I 


Comic  Miseries  43 

You're  talking  deep  philosophy 

With  very  special  force, 
To  edify  a  clergyman 

With  suitable  discourse, — 
You  think  you've  got  him — when  he  calls 

A  friend  across  the  way, 
And  begs  you'll  say  that  funny  thing 

You  said  the  other  day! 

You  drop  a  pretty  jeu-de-mot 

Into  a  neighbor's  ears, 
Who  likes  to  give  you  credit  for 

The  clever  thing  he  hears. 
And  so  he  hawks  your  jest  about. 

The  old  authentic  one, 
Just  breaking  off  the  point  of  it, 

And  leaving  out  the  pun ! 

By  sudden  change  in  politics. 

Or  sadder  change  in  Polly, 
You,  lose  your  love,  or  loaves,  and  fall 

A  prey  to  melancholy. 
While  everybody  marvels  why 

Your  mirth  is  under  ban, — 
They  think  your  very  grief  "  a  joke," 

You're  such  a  funny  man ! 

You  follow  up  a  stylish  card 

That  bids  you  come  and  dine. 
And  bring  along  your  freshest  wit 

(To  pay  for  musty  wine). 
You're  looking  very  dismal,  when 

My  lady  bounces  in, 
And  wonders  what  you're  thinking  of 

And  why  you  don't  begin! 

You're  telling  to  a  knot  of  friends 

A  fancy-tale  of  woes 
That  cloud  your  matrimonial  sky, 

And  banish  all  repose — 


4f4!  Banter 

A  solemn  lady  overhears 

The  story  of  your  strife, 
And  tells  the  town  the  pleasant  news: 

You  quarrel  with  your  wife ! 


My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 

Sets  all  the  room  a-blaze, 
Don't  think  yourself  "  a  happy  dog," 

For  all  your  merry  ways; 
But  learn  to  wear  a  sober  phiz, 

Be  stupid,  if  you  can, 
It's  such  a  very  serious  thing 

To  be  a  funny  man! 

John  G.  Saxe. 


EARLY  RISING 

"  God  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep !  " 
So  Sancho  Panza  said,  and  so  say  I: 

And  bless  him,  also,  that  he  didn't  keep 
His  great  discovery  to  himself ;  nor  try 

To  make  it — as  the  lucky  fellow  might — 

A  close  monopoly  by  patent-right ! 

Yes — bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep, 
(I  really  can't  avoid  the  iteration;) 

But  blast  the  man,  with  curses  loud  and  deep, 
Whate'er  the  rascal's  name,  or  age,  or  station, 

Who  first  invented,  and  went  round  advising. 

That  artificial  cut-off — Early  Rising! 

"  Rise  with  the  lark,  and  with  the  lark  to  bed," 
Observes  some  solemn,  sentimental  owl; 

Maxims  like  these  are  very  cheaply  said; 
But,  ere  you  make  yourself  a  fool  or  fowl, 

Pray  just  inquire  about  his  rise  and  fall, 

And  whether  larks  have  any  beds  at  all! 


Early  Rising  45 

The  time  for  honest  folks  to  be  a-bed 

Is  in  the  morning,  if  I  reason  right; 
And  he  who  cannot  keep  his  precious  head 

Upon  his  pillow  till  it's  fairly  light, 
And  so  enjoy  his  forty  morning  winks. 
Is  up  to  knavery;  or  else — he  drinks! 

Thompson,  who  sung  about  the  "  Seasons,"  said 
It  was  a  glorious  thing  to  rise  in  season; 

But  then  he  said  it — lying — in  his  bed, 
At  ten  o'clock  a.m., — the  very  reason 

He  wrote  so  charmingly.    The  simple  fact  is 

His  preaching  wasn't  sanctioned  by  his  practice. 

'Tis,  doubtless,  well  to  be  sometimes  awake, — 

Awake  to  duty,  and  awake  to  truth, — 
But  when,  alas!  a  nice  review  we  take 

Of  our  best  deeds  and  days,  -we  find,  in  sooth, 
The  hours  that  leave  the  slightest  cause  to  weep 
Are  those  we  passed  in  childhood  or  asleep ! 

'Tis  beautiful  to  leave  the  world  awhile 

For  the  soft  visions  of  the  gentle  night; 
And  free,  at  last,  from  mortal  care  or  guile, 

To  live  as  only  in  the  angel's  sight. 
In  sleep's  sweet  realm  so  cosily  shut  in. 
Where,  at  the  worst,  we  only  dream  of  sin  1 

So  let  us  sleep,  and  give  the  Maker  praise. 

I  like  the  lad  who,  when  his  father  thought 
To  clip  his  morning  nap  by  hackneyed  phrase 

Of  vagrant  worm  by  early  songster  caught, 
Cried,  "  Served  him  right! — it's  not  at  all  surprising; 
The  worm  was  punished,  sir,  for  early  rising! " 

John  G.  Saxe. 


46  Banter 


TO  THE  PLIOCENE  SKULL 

*'  Speak,  O  man  less  recent ! 

Fragmentary  fossil! 
Primal  pioneer  of  pliocene  formation, 
Hid  in  lowest  drifts  below  the  earliest  stratum 

Of  volcanic  tufa! 


"Older  than  the  beasts,  the  oldest  Palaeotheriura; 
Older  than  the  trees,  the  oldest  Cryptogami; 
Older  than  the  hills,  those  infantile  eruptions 
Of  earth's  epidermis! 


That  those  vacant  sockets  filled  with  awe  and  wonder, — 
Whether  shores  Devonian  or  Silurian  beaches, — 
Tell  us  thy  strange  story ! 

"  Or  has  the  professor  slightly  antedated 
By  some  thousand  years  thy  advent  on  this  planet, 
Giving  thee  an  air  that's  somewhat  better  fitted 
For  cold-blooded  creatures? 

"  Wert  thou  true  spectator  of  that  mighty  forest 
When  above  thy  head  the  stately  Sigillaria 
Reared  its  columned  trunks  in  that  remote  and  distant 
Carboniferous  epoch? 

"  Tell  us  of  that  scene — the  dim  and  watery  woodland, 
Songless,  silent,  hushed,  with  never  bird  or  insect. 
Veiled  with  spreading  fronds  and  screened  with  tall  club- 
mosses, 

Lycopodiacea, — 

"  When  beside  thee  walked  the  solemn  Plesiosaurus, 
And  all  around  thee  crept  the  festive  Ichthyosaurus, 
While  from  time  to  time  above  thee  flew  and  circled 
Cheerful  Pterodactyls; — 


Ode  to  Work  in  Springtime 

"  Tell  us  of  thy  food, — those  half-marine  refections, 
Crinoids  on  the  shell,  and  Brachipode  au  naturel, — 
Cuttle-fish  to  which  the  pieuvre  of  Victor  Hugo 
Seems  a  periwinkle. 


"  Speak,  thou  awful  vestige  of  the  Earth's  creation — 
Solitary  fragment  of  remains  organic! 
Tell  the  wondrous  secret  of  thy  past  existence — 
Speak !  thou  oldest  primate !  " 

Even  as  I  gazed,  a  thrill  of  the  maxilla. 
And  a  lateral  movement  of  the  condyloid  process, 
With  post-pliocene  sounds  of  healthy  mastication. 
Ground  the  teeth  together. 

And,  from  that  imperfect  dental  exhibition, 
Stained  with  expressed  juices  of  the  weed  Nicotian,  . 
Came  these  hollow  accents,  blent  with  softer  murmurs 
Of  expectoration : 

"  Which  my  name  is  Bowers,  and  my  crust  was  busted 
Falling  down  a  shaft  in  Calaveras  county. 
But  I'd  take  it  kindly  if  you'd  send  the  pieces 
Home  to  old  Missouri !  '^ 

Bret  Harte. 


ODE  TO  WORK  IN  SPRINGTIME 

Oh,  would  that  working  I  might  shun, 
From  labour  my  connection  sever. 

That  T  might  do  a  bit — or  none 
Whatever ! 


That  I  might  wander  over  hills. 
Establish  friendship  with  a  daisy. 

O'er  pretty  things  like  daffodils 
Go  crazy! 


48  Banter 

That  T  might  at  the  heavens  gaze, 
Concern  •myself  with  nothing  weighty, 

Loaf,  at  a  stretch,  for  seven  days — 
Or  eighty. 

Why  can't  I  cease  a  slave  to  be. 

And  taste  existence  beatific 
On  some  fair  island,  hid  in  the 

Pacific? 

Instead  of  sitting  at  a  desk 

'Mid  undone  labours,  grimly  lurking — 

Oh,  say,  what  is  there  picturesque 
In  working? 

But  no! — to  loaf  were  misery! — 

I  love  to  work !    Hang  isles  of  coral! 
(To  end  this  otherwise  would  be 
*  Immoral !) 

Thomas  R.  Ybarra. 


OLD  STUFF 

If  I  go  to  see  the  play. 

Of  the  story  I  am  certain; 
Promptly  it  gets  under  way 

With  the  lifting  of  the  curtain. 
Builded  all  that's  said  and  done 

On  the  ancient  recipe — 
'Tis  the  same  old  Two  and  One: 

A  and  B  in  love  with  C. 

If  I  read  the  latest  book, 

There's  the  mossy  situation; 
One  may  confidently  look 

For  the  trite  tri angulation. 
Old  as  time,  but  ever  new, 

Seemingly,  this  tale  of  Three — 
Same  old  yam  of  One  and  Two: 

A  and  C  in  love  with  B, 


The  Legend  of  Heinz  Von  Stein  49 

If  I  cast  my  eyes  around, 

Far  and  near  and  middle  distance, 
Still  the  formula  is  found 

In  our  everyday  existence. 
Everywhere  I  look  I  see — 

Fact  or  fiction,  life  or  play — 
Still  the  little  game  of  Three: 

B  and  C  in  love  with  A. 

While  the  ancient  law  fulfills, 

Myriad  moons  shall  wane  and  wax. 
Jack  must  have  his  pair  of  Jills, 

Jill  must  have  her  pair  of  Jacks. 

Bert  Lesion  Taylor. 


TO  MINERVA 

My  temples  throb,  my  pulses  boil, 

I'm  sick  of  Song  and  Ode  and  Ballad — 

So  Thyrsis,  take  the  midnight  oil, 
And  pour  it  on  a  lobster  salad. 

My  brain  is  dull,  my  sight  is  foul, 

I  cannot  write  a  verse,  or  read — 
Then  Pallas,  take  away  thine  Owl, 

And  let  us  have  a  Lark  instead. 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  IIEINZ  VON  STEIN 

Out  rode  from  his  wild,  dark  castle 
The  terrible  Ileinz  von  Stein; 

lie  came  to  the  door  of  a  tavern 
And  gazed  on  its  swinging  sign. 

He  sat  himself  down  at  a  table, 
And  growled  for  a  bottle  of  wine; 

Up  came  with  a  flask  and  a  corkscrew 
A  maiden  of  beauty  divine. 


50  Banter 

Then,  seized  with  a  deep  love-longing, 
He  uttered,  "  O  damosel  mine. 

Suppose  you  just  give  a  few  kisses 
To  the  valorous  Kitter  von  Stein! ' 


But  she  answered,  "  The  kissing  business 

Is  entirely  out  of  my  line; 
And  I  certainly  will  not  begin  it 

On  a  countenance  ugly  as  thine! " 

Oh,  then  the  bold  knight  was  angry, 

And  cursed  both  coarse  and  fine; 
And  asked,  "  How  much  is  the  swindle 

For  your  sour  and  nasty  wine  ?  " 

And  fiercely  he  rode  to  the  castle 

And  sat  himself  down  to  dine; 
And  this  is  the  dreadful  legend 

Of  the  terrible  Heinz  von  Stein. 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  HORACE 

It  is  very  aggravating 

To  hear  the  solemn  prating 

Of  the  fossils  who  are  stating 

That  old  Horace  was  a  prude; 
When  we  know  that  with  the  ladies 
He  was  always  raising  Hades, 
And  with  many  an  escapade  his 

Best  productions  are  imbued. 


There's  really  not  much  harm  in 
Large  number  of  his  carmina, 
But  these  people  find  alarm  in  a 
Few  records  of  his  acts; 


Propinquity  Needed 

So  they'd  squelch  the  muse  caloric, 
And  to  students  sophomoric 
They'd  present  as  metaphoric 
What  old  Horace  meant  for  facts. 

We  have  always  thought  'em  lazy; 
Now  we  adjudge  'em  crazy! 
Why,  Horace  was  a  daisy 

That  was  very  much  alive! 
And  the  vi^isest  of  us  know  him 
As  his  Lydia  verses  show  him, — 
Go,  read  that  virile  poem, — 

It  is  No.  25. 

He  was  a  very  owl,  sir, 
And  starting  out  to  prowl,  sir, 
You  bet  he  made  Rome  howl,  sir. 

Until  he  filled  his  date; 
With  a  massic-laden  ditty 
And  a  classic  maiden  pretty, 
He  painted  up  the  city, 

And  Maecenas  paid  the  freight! 

Eugene  Field. 


PROPINQUITY  NEEDED 

Celestine  Silvousplait  Justine  de  Mouton  Rosalie, 
A  coryphee  who  lived  and  danced  in  naughty,  gay  Paree, 
Was  every  bit  as  pretty  as  a  French  girl  e'er  can  be 
(Which  isn't  saying  much). 

Maurice  Boulanger  (there's  a  name  that  would  adorn  a  king), 
But  Morris  Baker  was  the  name  they  called  the  man  I  sing. 
He  lived  in  New  York  City  in  the  Street  that's  labeled  Spring 
(Chosen  because  it  rhymed). 

Now  Baker  was  a  lonesome  youth  and  wanted  to  be  wed, 
And  for  a  wife,  all  over  town  he  hunted,  it  is  said; 
And  up  and  down  Fifth  Avenue  he  ofttimes  wandered 
(He  was  a  peripatetic  Baker,  he  was). 


52  Banter 

And  had  lie  met  Celestine,  not  a  doubt  but  Cupid's  darts 
Would  in  a  trice  have  wounded  both  of  their  fond,  loving 

hearts ; 
But  he  has  never  left  New  York  to  stray  in  foreign  parts 
(Because  he  hasn't  the  price). 

And  she  has  never  left  Paree  and  so,  of  course,  you  see 
There's  not  the  slightest  chance  at  all  she'll  marry  Morris  B. 
For  love  to  get  well  started,  really  needs  propinquity 
(Hence  my  title). 

Charles  Battell  Loomis. 


IN  THE  CATACOMBS 

Sam  Brown  was  a  fellow  from  way  down  East, 
Who  never  was  ^'  staggered  "  in  the  least. 
No  tale  of  marvellous  beast  or  bird 
Could  match  the  stories  he  had  heard; 
No  curious  place  or  wondrous  view 
"  Was  ekil  to  Podunk,  I  tell  yu." 

If  they  told  him  of  Italy's  sunny  clime, 

"Maine  kin  beat  it,  every  time!" 

If  they  marvelled  at  ^Etna's  fount  of  fire, 

They  roused  his  ire: 

With  an  injured  air 

He'd  reply,  "  I  swear 

I  don't  think  much  of  a  smokin'  hill; 

We've  got  a  moderate  little  rill 

Kin  make  yer  old  volcaner  still; 

Jes'  pour  old  Kennebec  down  the  crater, 

'N'  I  guess  it'll  cool  her  fiery  nater!  " 

They  showed  him  a  room  where  a  queen  had  slept; 
"  'Twan't  up  to  the  tavern  daddy  kept." 
They  showed  him  Lucerne;  but  he  had  drunk 
From  the  beautiful  Molechunkamunk. 
They  took  him  at  last  to  ancient  Rome, 
And  inveigled  him  into  a  catacomb: 


Our  Native  Birds  63 

Here  they  plied  him  with  draughts  of  wine, 
Though  he  vowed  old  cider  was  twice  as  fine, 
Till  the  fumes  of  Falernian  filled  his  head, 
And  he  slept  as  sound  as  the  silent  dead; 
They  removed  a  mummy  to  make  him  room, 
And  laid  him  at  length  in  the  rocky  tomb. 

They  piled  old  skeletons  round  the  stone, 

Set  a  "  dip  "  in  a  candlestick  of  bone, 

And  left  him  to  slumber  there  alone; 

Then  watched  from  a  distance  the  taper's  gleam. 

Waiting  to  jeer  at  his  frightened  scream, 

When  he  should  wake  from  his  drunken  dream. 

After  a  time  the  Yankee  woke, 

But  instantly  saw  through  the  flimsy  joke; 

So  never  a  cry  or  shout  he  uttered, 

But  solemnly  rose,  and  slowly  muttered: 

"  I  see  how  it  is.    It's  the  judgment  day. 

We've  all  been  dead  and  stowed  away; 

All  these  stone  furreners  sleepin'  yet, 

An'  I'm  the  fust  one  up,  you  bet ! 

Can't  none  o'  you  Romans  start,  I  wonder? 

United  States  ahead,  hy  thunder!  " 

Harlan  Hoge  Ballard. 


OUR  NATIVE  BIRDS 

Alone  I  sit  at  eventide; 
The  twilight  glory  pales. 

And  o'er  the  meadows  far  and  wide 
I  hear  the  bobolinks — 
(We  have  no  nightingales!) 

Song-sparrows  warble  on  the  tree, 
I  hear  the  purling  brook, 

And  from  the  old  manse  on  the  lea 
Flies  slow  the  cawing  crow — 
(In  England  'twere  a  rook!) 


5^  Banter 

The  last  faint  golden  beams  of  day 

Still  glow  on  cottage  panes, 
And  on  their  lingering  homeward  way 

Walk  weary  laboring  men — 

(Alas!  we  have  no  swains!) 

From  farmyards,  down  fair  rural  glades 

Come  sounds  of  tinkling  bells, 
And  songs  of  merry  brown  milkmaids 

Sweeter  than  catbird's  strains — 

(I  should  say  Philomel's!) 

I  could  sit  here  till  morning  came, 
All  through  the  night  hours  dark, 

Until  I  saw  the  sun's  bright  flame 
And  heard  the  oriole — 
(Alas!  we  have  no  lark!) 

We  have  no  leas,  no  larks,  no  rooks, 

No  swains,  no  nightingales, 
No  singing  milkmaids  (save  in  books) 

The  poet  does  his  best: — 

It  is  the  rhyme  that  fails. 

Nathan  Haskell  Dole. 


THE  PKAYER  OF  CYRUS  BROWN 

"  The  proper  way  for  a  man  to  pray," 

Said  Deacon  Lemuel  Keyes, 
"  And  the  only  proper  attitude 

Is  down  upon  his  knees." 

"  No,  I  should  say  the  way  to  pray," 

Said  Rev.  Doctor  Wise, 
"  Is  standing  straight  with  outstretched  arms 

And  rapt  and  upturned  eyes." 

"Oh,  no;  no,  no,"  said  Elder  Slow, 

"  Such  posture  is  too  proud : 
A  man  should  pray  with  eyes  fast  closed 

And  head  contritely  bowed." 


Erring  in  Company  55 

"  It  seems  to  me  his  hands  should  be 

Austerely  clasped  in  front, 
With  both  thumbs  pointing  toward  the  ground," 

Said  Rev.  Doctor  Blunt. 


"Las'  year  I  fell  in  Hodgkin's  well 

Head  first,"  said  Cyrus  Brown, 
"  With  both  my  heels  a-stickin'  up. 

My  head  a-pinting  down; 

"  An'  I  made  a  prayer  right  then  an'  there — 

Best  prayer  I  ever  said, 
The  prayingest  prayer  I  ever  prayed, 

A-standing  on  my  head." 

Sam   Walter  Foss. 


ERRING  IN  COMPANY 

"  If  I  have  erred,  I  err  in  company  with  Abraham  Lincoln."- 
Theodore  Roosevelt. 

If  e'er  my  rhyming  be  at  fault, 
If  e'er  I  chance  to  scribble  dope. 

If  that  my  metre  ever  halt, 
I  err  in  company  with  Pope. 


An  that  my  grammar  go  awry, 
An  that  my  English  be  askew. 

Sooth,  I  can  prove  an  alibi — 
The  Bard  of  Avon  did  it  too. 

If  often  toward  the  bottled  grape 
My  errant  fancy  fondly  turns, 

Remember,  leering  jack  an  ape, 
I  err  in  company  with  Burns. 

If  now  and  then  I  sigh  **  Mine  own!" 
Unto  another's  wedded  wife, 

Remember,  I  am  not  alone — 

Ilast  ever  read  Lord  Byron's  Life? 


56  Banter 

If  frequently  I  fret  and  fume, 

And  absolutely  will  not  smile, 
I  err  in  company  with  Ilume, 

Old  Socrates  and  T.  Carlyle. 

If  e'er  I  fail  in  etiquette, 

And  foozle  on  The  Proper  Stuff 

Regarding  manners,  don't  forget 
A.  Tennyson's  were  pretty  tough. 

Eke  if  I  err  upon  the  side 

Of  talking  overmuch  of  Me, 
I  err,  it  cannot  be  denied, 

In  most  illustrious  company. 

Franklin  P.  Adams. 


CUPID 

Why  was  Cupid  a  boy, 

And  why  a  boy  was  he? 
He  should  have  been   a  girl, 

For   aught   that  I   can   see. 

For  he   shoots   with   his   bow. 
And  the  girl  shoots  with  her  eye; 

And  they  both  are  merry  and  glad, 
And  laugh  when  we  do  cry. 

Then  to  make  Cupid  a  boy 

Was  surely   a   woman's  plan, 
For   a  boy   never  learns   so   much 

Till  he  has  become  a  man. 

And  then  he's  so  pierced  with  cares, 
And  wounded  with   arrowy  smarts. 

That  the  whole  business  of  his  life 
Is  to  pick   out  the  heads  of  the  darts. 

William  Blake. 


If  Wc  Didn't  Have  to  Eat  57 


IF  WE  DIDN'T  HAVE  TO  EAT 

Life  would  be  an  easy  matter 

If   we   didn't  have   to   eat. 
If  we  never  had  to   utter, 
"  Won't  you  pass  the  bread  and  butter, 
Likewise  push   along  that  platter 

Full  of  meat?" 

Yes,  if  food  were  obsolete 

Life  would  be  a  jolly  treat, 
If  we   didn't — shine  or   shower. 
Old   or  young,  'bout  every  hour — 

Have  to  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat,  eat — 

'T would  be  jolly  if  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 

We  could  save  a  lot  of  money 

If  we  didn't  have  to   eat. 

Could  we  cease  our  busy  buying. 
Baking,    broiling,    brewing,    frying. 
Life  would  then  be  oh,  so  sunny 

And  complete; 

And  we  wouldn't  fear  to  greet 

Every  grocer   in   the   street 
If  we  didn't — man  and  woman. 
Every  hungry,  helpless   human — 

Have  to  eat,  eat,  eat,  cat,  eat — 

We'd  save  money  if  we  didn't  have  to  eat.  ■ 

All  our  worry  would  be  over 
If  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 

Would  the  butcher,   baker,   grocer 
Get  our  hard-earned  dollars?     No,   Sir! 
We  would  then  be  right  in  clover 
Cool  and  sweet. 

Want  and  hunger  we  could  cheat. 
And  we'd  get  there  with  both  feet, 
If  we  didn't — poor  or  wealthy. 
Halt  or  nimble,  sick  or  healthy — 
Have  to  eat,  cat,  eat,  eat,  eat, 
We  could  get  there  if  we  didn't  have  to  eat. 

Nixon  Waterman. 


58  Banter 


TO  MY  EMPTY  PURSE 

To  you,  my  purse,  and  to  none  other  wight, 

Complain  I,  for  ye  be  my  lady  dere; 

I  am  sorry  now  that  ye  be  light, 

For,  certes,  ye  now  make  me  heavy  chere; 

Me  were  as  lefe  be  laid  upon  a  here, 

For  which  unto  your  mercy  thus  I  crie, 

Be  heavy  againe,  or  els  mote  I  die. 

Now  vouchsafe  this  day  or  it  be  night, 
That  I  of  you  the  blissful  sowne  may  here, 
Or  see  your  color  like  the  sunne  bright. 
That  of  yellowness  had  never  pere; 
Ye  are  my  life,  ye  be  my  hertcs  stere. 
Queen  of  comfort  and  of  good  companie, 
Be  heavy  againe,  or  els  mote  I  die. 

Now  purse,  thou  art  to  me  my  lives  light. 
And  saviour,  as  downe  in  this  world  here, 
Out  of  this  towne  helpe  me  by  your  might, 
Sith  that  you  will  not  be  my  treasure, 
For  I   am   slave   as   nere   as   any  frere, 
But    I    pray    unto    your    curtesie. 
Be  heavy  againe,  or  els  mote  I  die. 

Geoffrey  Chaucer. 


THE  BIRTH   OF   SAINT  PATRICK 

On  the  eighth  day  of  March  it  was,  some  people  say, 
That  Saint  Pathrick  at  midnight  he  first  saw  the  day; 
While  others  declare  'twas  the  ninth  he  was  born. 
And  'twas  all  a  mistake  between  midnight  and  morn; 
For  mistakes  will  occur  in  a  hurry  and  shock, 
And  some  blam'd  the  baby — and  some  blam'd  the  clock — 
Till  with  all  their  cross-questions  sure  no  one  could  know, 
If  the  child  was  too  fast — or  the  clock  was  too  slow. 


Her  Little  Feet  59 

Now  the  first  faction  fight   In  ould  Ireland,  they  say, 

Was  all  on  account  of  Saint  Pathrlck's  birthday. 

Some   fought   for   the   eighth — for   the    ninth   more   would 

die. 
And  who  wouldn't  see  right,  sure  they  blacken'd  his  eye! 
At  last,  both  the  factions  so  positive  grew, 
That  each  kept  a  birthday,  so  Pat  then  had  two. 
Till   Father   Mulcahy,   who   showed   them   their   sins. 
Said,  "  No  one  could  have  two  birthdays  but  a  twins'* 

Says  he,  "  Boys,  don't  be  fightin'  for  eight  or  for  nine. 
Don't  be  always  dividin' — but  sometimes  combine; 
Combine  eight  with  nine,  and  seventeen  is  the  mark. 
So  let  that  be  his  birthday." — "  Amen,"  says  the  clerk. 
"  If  ho  wasn't  a  twins,  sure  our  hist'ry  will  show — 
That,  at  least,  he's  worth  any  two  saints  that  we  know  I " 
Then    they    all   got   blind   dhrunk — which    complated    their 

bliss. 
And  we  keep  up  the  practice  from  that  day  to  this. 

Samuel  Lover. 


HER  LITTLE  FEET 

Her  little  feet!  .  .  .  Beneath  us  ranged  the  sea, 
She  sat,  from  sun  and  wind  umbrella-shaded. 

One  shoe  above  the  other  danglingly, 
And  lo!  a   Something  exquisitely  graded. 

Brown  rings  and  white,  distracting— to  the  knee! 

The  band  was   loud.     A  wild  waltz   melody 

Flowed    rhythmic   forth.      The   nobodies   paraded. 
And  thro'  my  dream  went  pulsing  fast  and  free: 
Her   little   feet. 

Till  she  made  room  for  some  one.     It  was  He! 
A   port-wine  flavored   He,    a  He  who   traded. 
Rich,   rosy,   round,   obese  to   a  degree! 
A    sense    of    injury    overmastered    me. 

Quite  bulbously  his   ample  boots  upbraided 
Her   little   feet. 

William  Ernest  Henley. 


60  Banter 


SCHOOL 


If  there  is  a  vile,  pernicious, 

"Wicked   and   degraded   rule, 
Tending  to  debase  the  vicious, 

And   corrupt  the   harmless  fool; 
If  there  is  a  hateful  habit 

Making   man    a   senseless    tool, 
With  the  feelings  of  a  rabbit 

And  the  wisdom  of  a  mule; 
It's    the    rule   which    inculcatoe, 
It's  the  habit  which  dictates 
The  wrong  and  sinful  practice  of 
going    into    school. 


If   there's   anything   improving 

To  an  erring  sinner's  state. 
Which   is  useful  in  removing 

All  the  ills  of  human  fate; 
If   there's  any  glorious   custom 

Which  our  faults  can  dissipate, 
And  can  casually  thrust  'em 

Out  of  sight  and  make  us  great; 
It's  the  plan  by  which  we  shirk 
Half   our  matu-ti-nal   work. 
The   glorious   institution   of    always 
being  late. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 


THE  MILLENNIUM 

TO   R.    K. 

As  long  I  dwell  on  some  stupendous 
And  tremendous  (Heaven  defend  us!) 


"Exactly  So"  61 

Monstr -inform' -ingens-liorrendous 

Demoniaco-seraphic 

Penman's  latest  piece  of  graphic. 

—Robert  Browning. 

Will  there  never  come   a  season 

Which  shall  rid  us  from  the  curse 
Of  a  prose  which  knows  no  reason 

And  an  unmelodious  verse: 
When  the  world  shall  cease  to  wonder 

At  the  genius  of  an  Ass, 
And  a  boy's   eccentric  blunder 

Shall  not  bring  success  to  pass: 

When  mankind  shall  be  delivered 

From  the  clash  of  magazines, 
And  the  inkstand  shall  be  shivered 

Into   countless   smithereens : 
When  there  stands   a  muzzled  stripling, 

Mute,  beside  a  muzzled  bore: 
When  the  Rudyar^s   cease  from  Kipling 

And  the  Haggards  Ride  no  more? 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 

"EXACTLY  SO" 

A  SPEECH,  both  pithy  and  concise, 

Marks  a  mind  acute  and  wise; 

What  speech,  my  friend,   say,  do  you  know. 

Can   stand  before  "Exactly  so?" 

I  have  a  dear  and  witty  friend 
Who    turns    this   phrase   to   every   end; 
None  can   deny  that  "Yes"   or  "No" 
Is  meant  in  this   "  Exactly  so." 

Or  when  a  bore  his  ear  assails, 
Good-humour   in   his  bosom  fails, 
No  response  from  his  lips  will  flow. 
Save,   now   and   then,   "  Exactly   so." 


62  Banter 

Is  there  remark  on  matters  grave 
That   he  may    wish   perchance   to   waive, 
Or  thinks   perhaps   is   rather   slow, 
He  stops  it  by  ''  Exactly  so." 

It  saves  the  trouble  of  a  thought — 
No  sour  dispute  can  thence  be  sought; 
It  leaves  the  thing  in  statu  quo, 
This  beautiful  "Exactly  so." 

It  has  another  charm,  this  phrase, 
For  it  implies  the  speaker's  praise 
Of  what  has  just  been   said — ergo — 
It  pleases,  this  "Exactly  so." 

Nor  need  the  conscience  feel  distress, 
By  answering  wrongly   "No"   or   "Yes;" 
It  'scapes  a  falsehood,  which  is  low, 
And  substitutes  "  Exactly  so." 

Each  mortal  loves  to  think  he's  right. 
That   his   opinion,   too,   is   bright; 
Then,  Christian,  you  may  soothe  your  foe 
By  chiming  in  "  Exactly  so." 

Whoe'er  these  lines  may  chance  peruse, 
Of  this  famed  word  will  see  the  use, 
And  mention  where'er  he  may  go. 
The   praises    of   "Exactly   so." 

Of  this  more  could   my   muse   relate, 
But  you,  kind  reader,  I'll   not  sate; 
For   if   I    did   you'd   cry   "Hallo! 
I've  heard  enough" — "Exactly  so." 

Lady  T.  Hastings. 


Companions  63 


COMPANIONS 

A  TALE  OF  A  GRANDFATHER 

I  KNOW  not  of  what  we  ponder'd 

Or  made  pretty  pretence  to  talk, 
As,  her  hand  within  mine,  we  wandered 

Tow'rd  the  pool  by  the  lime-tree  walk, 
While  the  dew  fell  in  showers  from  the  passion  flowers 

And  the  blush-rose  bent  on  her  stalk. 

I  cannot  recall  her  figure: 

Was  it  regal  a^  Juno's  own? 
Or  only  a  trifle  bigger 

Than  the  elves  who  surround  the  throne 
Of  the  Faery  Queen,  and  are  seen,  I  ween, 

By  mortals  in  dreams  alone? 

What  her  eyes  were  like,  I  know  not: 

Perhaps  they  were  blurr'd  with  tears; 
And  perhaps  in  your  skies  there  glow  not 

(On  the  contrary)  clearer  spheres. 
No!  as  to  her  eyes  I  am  just  as  wise 

As  you  or  the  cat,  my  dears. 

Her  teeth,  I  presume,  were  "pearly"  : 
But  which  was  she,  brunette  or  blonde? 

Her  hair,  was  it  quaintly  curly. 
Or  as  straight  as  a  beadle's  wand? 

That  I  fail'd  to  remark; — it  was  rather  dark 
And  shadowy  round  the  pond. 

Then  the  hand  that  reposed  so  snugly 

In  mine, — was  it  plump  or  spare? 
Was  the  countenance  fair  or  ugly? 

Nay,  children,  you  have  me  there! 
My  eyes  were  p'r'aps  blurr'd ;  and  besides  I'd  heard 

That  it's  horribly  rude  to  stare. 


64«  Banter 

And  I — was  I  brusque  and  surly? 

Or  oppressively  bland  and  fond? 
Was  I  partial  to  rising  early? 

Or  why  did  we  twain  abscond, 
All  breakfastless,  too,  from  the  public  view. 

To  prowl  by  a  misty  pond? 

What  pass'd,  what  was  felt  or  spoken — 

Whether  anything  pass'd  at  all — 
And  whether  the  heart  was  broken 

That  beat  under  that  shelt'ring  shawl — 
(If  shawl  she  had  on,  which  I  doubt) — has  gone, 

Yes,  gone  from  me  past  recall. 

Was  I  haply  the  lady's  suitor? 

Or  her  uncle?     I  can't  make  out — 
Ask  your  governess,   dears,   or  tutor. 

For  myself,  I'm  in  hopeless  doubt 
As  to  why  we  were  there,  who  on  earth  we  were. 

And  what  this  is  all  about. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER 

ABROAD   WITH   HIS   SON 

O  WHAT  harper  could  worthily  harp  it. 
Mine  Edward!   this  wide-stretching  wold 

(Look  out  wold)  with  its  wonderful  cari)et 
Of  emerald,   purple   and   gold! 

Look  well  at  it — also  look  sharp,  it 
Is  getting  so  cold. 

The  purple  is  heather  (erica); 

The  yellow,  gorse — call'd  sometimes   "whin." 
Cruel  boys  on  its  prickles  might  spike  a 

Green  beetle  as  if  on  a  pin. 
You  may  roll  in  it,  if  you  would  like  a 
Eew  holes  in  your  skin. 


The  Schoolmaster  65 

You  wouldn't?     Then  think  of  how  kind  you 

Should  be  to  the   insects  who  crave 
Your  compassion — and  then,   look  behind  you 

At  yon  barley-ears!     Don't  they  look  brave 
As  they  undulate— {undulate,  mind  you, 
From  unda,  a  wave). 

The  noise  of  those  sheep-bells,  how  faint  it 
Sounds  here — (on  account  of  our  height)  ! 

And  this  hillock  itself — who  could  paint  it, 
With  its  changes  of  shadow  and  light? 

Is  it  not — (never,  Eddy,  say  "  ain't  it ") — 
A  marvelous  sight? 

Then  yon  desolate  eerie  morasses. 

The  haunts  of   the  snipe  and  the  hern — 

(I  shall  question  the  two  upper  classes 
On  aquatiles,  when  we  return) — 

Why,  I  see  on  them  absolute  masses 
Of  filix  or  fern. 

How  it  interests  e'en  a  beginner 

(Or  tiro)   like  dear  little  Ned! 
Is  he  listening?     As  I  am  a  sinner 

He's   asleep — he  is  wagging  his  head. 
Wake  up!     I'll  go  home  to  my  dinner. 
And  you  to  your  bed. 

The   boundless   ineffable   prairie; 

The  splendor  of  mountain  and  lake 
With  their  hues  that  seem  ever  to  vary; 

The  mighty  pine  forests  which  shake 
In  the  wind,   and  in  which  the  unwary 
May  tread  on  a  snake; 

And  this  wold  with  its  heathery  garment — 

Are  themes  undeniably  great. 
But — although  there  is  not  any  harm  in't — 

It's  perhaps  little  good  to  dilate 
On  their  charms  to  a  dull  little  varmint 
Of  seven  or  eight. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


66  Banter 


A  APPEAL  FOR  ARE  TO  THE  SEXTANT  OF  THE 
OLD  BRICK  MEETINOUSE 

BY   A  GASPER 

The  sextant  of  the  meetinouse,  which  sweeps 

And  dusts,  or  is  supposed  too!   and  makes  fiers, 

And  lites  the  gas  and  sometimes  leaves   a  screw  loose, 

in  which  case  it  smells  orful — worse  than  lampile; 

And  wrings  the  Bel  and  toles  it  when  men  dyes 

to  the  grief  of  survivin  pardners,  and  sweeps  pathcs; 

And  for  the  servases  gits  $100  per  annum, 

Which  them  that  thinks  deer,  let  em  try  it; 

Getting  up  be  foar  star-lite  in   all  weathers  and 

Kindlin-fires  when  the  wether  it  is  cold 

As  zero,   and  like  as  not  green   wood   for  kindlers ; 

I  wouldn't  be  hired  to  do  it  for  no  some — 

But  o  sextant!  there  are  1  kermoddity 

Which's  more  than  gold,  wich  doant  cost  nothin, 

Worth  more  than  anything  exsep  the  Sole  of  Man. 

i  mean  pewer  Are,  sextent,  i  mean  pewer  are! 

0  it  is  plenty  out  o  dores,  so  plenty  it  doant  no 
What  on  airth  to  dew  with  itself,  but  flys  about 
Scaterin  levs  and  bloin  of  men's  hatts; 

in  short,  jest  *'  f  re  as   are "  out  dores. 

But  o  sextant,  in  our  church  its  scarce  as  piety, 

scarce  as  bank  bills  wen   agints  beg  for  mischuns, 

Wich  some  say  purty  often   (taint  nothin   to  me, 

Wat  I  give  aint  nothin  to  nobody),  but  o  sextant, 

u  shut  500  mens  wimmen  and  children, 

Speshally  the  latter,  up  in  a  tite  place. 

Some  has  bad  breths,  none  aint  2  swete, 

some  is  fevery,  some  is  scrofilus,  some  has  bad  teeth, 

And  some  haint  none,  and  some  aint  over  clean; 

But  every  1  on  em  breethes  in  and  out  and  out  and  in, 

Say  50  times  a  minit,  or  1  million  and  a  half  breths  an  our, 

Now  how  long  will  a  church  ful  of  are  last  at  that  rate, 

1  ask  you,  say  15  minutes,  and  then  wats  to  be  did? 
Why  then  they  must  brethe  it  all  over  agin. 


Cupid's  Darts  67 

And  then  agin,  and  so  on,  till  each  has  took  it  down, 

At  least  ten  times,  and  let  it  uj)  again,  and  wats  more 

The  same  individible  don't  have  the  privilege 

of  brethen  his  own   are,  and  no  one's  else; 

Each  one  mus  take  whatever  comes  to  him. 

O   sextant,   don't  you  know  our  lungs   is   bellusses, 

To  bio  the  fier  of  life,  and  keep  it  from 

goin  out;  and  how  can  bellusses  blow  without  wind, 

And  aint  wind  are?  i  put  it  to  your  conscens. 

Are  is  the  same  to  us  as  milk  to  babes, 

Or  water  to  fish,  or  pcndlums  to  clox — 

Or  roots  and  airbs  unto  an  injun  Doctor, 

Or  little  pils  to  an  omepath. 

Or  boys  to  gurls.     Are  is  for  us  to  brethe, 

Wat  signifies   who  preeches   if   i  cant  brethe? 

Wats  Pol?    Wats  Pollus?  to  sinners  who  are  ded? 

Ded  for  want  of  breth?  why  sextant,  when  we  die 

Its  only  coz  we  cant  brethe  no  more — that's  all. 

And  now,  O  sextant,  let  me  beg  of  you 

2  let  a  little  are  into  our  church. 

(Fewer  are   is  sertin  proper  for  the  pews) 

And   do   it   weak   days   and   S\indays   tew — 

It  aint  much  trouble — only  make  a  hole 

And  the  are  will  come  in  itself; 

(It  luvs  to  come  in   whare   it  can  git  warm) : 

And  o  how  it  will  rouse  the  people  up 

And  sperrit  up  the  preacher,   and  stop  garbs. 

And  yawns  and  figgits  as  effectooal 

As  wind  on  the  dry  Boans  the  Profit  tells   of. 

'rahella  Willson. 


CUPID'S  DARTS 

WHICH   ARE   A  GROWING    MENACE   TO   THE   PUBLIC 

Do  not  worry  if  I  scurry  from  the  grill  room  in  a  hurry, 

Dropping  hastily  my  curry  and  retiring  into  balk; 
Do  not  let  it  cause  you  wonder  if,  by  some  mischance  or 
blunder. 
We  encounter  on  the  Underground  and  I  get  out  and 
walk. 


68  Banter 

If  I  double  as  a  cub'll  when  you  meet  him  in  the  stubble, 
Do  not  think  I  am  in  trouble  or  attempt  to  make  a  fuss; 

Do  not  judge  me  melancholy  or  attribute  it  to  folly 
If  I  leave  the  Metropolitan  and  travel  'n  a  bus. 

Do  not  quiet  your  anxiety  by  giving  me  a  diet, 

Or  by  base  resort  to  vi  et  armis  fold  me  to  your  arms. 

And  let  no  suspicious  tremor  violate  your  wonted  phlegm  or 
Any    fear    that    Harold's    memory    is    faithless    to    your 
charms. 

For  my  passion  as  I  dash  on  in  that  disconcerting  fashion 
Is  as  ardently  irrational  as  when  we  forged  the  link 

When    you   gave   your    little   hand   away   to   me,    my   own 
Amanda 
As  we  sat  'n  the  veranda  till  the  stars  began  to  wink. 

And  I  am  in  such  a  famine  when  your  beauty  I  examine 

That  it  lures  me  as  the  jam  invites  a  hungry  little  brat; 
But  I  fancy  that,  at  any  rate,  Vd  rather  waste  a  penny 
Then  be  spitted  by  the  many  pins  that  bristle  from  your 
hat. 

Unknown. 


A  PLEA  FOR  TRIGAMY 

I've  been  trying  to  fashion  a  wifely  ideal. 

And  find  that  my  tastes  are  so  far  from  concise 
That,  to  marry  completely,  no  fewer  than  three'U 
SuflSce 

i 
I've  subjected  my  views  to  severe  atmospheric 
Compression,  but  still,  in  defiance  of  force. 
They  distinctly  fall  under  three  heads,  like  a  cleric 
Discourse. 

My  first  must  be  fashion's  own  fancy-bred  daughter. 

Proud,  peerless,  and  perfect — in  fact,  comme  il  faut; 
A  waltzer  and  wit  of  the  very  first  water — 
For  show. 


A  Pica  for  Trigamy  69 

But  these  beauties  that  serve  to  make  all  the  men  jealous, 

Once   face   them   alone   in  the   family   cot. 
Heaven's  angels  incarnate   (the  novelists  tell  us) 
They're  not. 

But  so  much  for  appearances.     Now  for  my  second. 

My  lover,  the  wife  of  my  home  and  my  heart: 
Of  all  fortune  and  fate  of  my  life  to  be  reckon'd 
A  part. 

She  must  know  all  the  needs  of  a  rational  being, 

Be  skilled  to  keep  counsel,  to  comfort,  to  coax; 
And,  above  all  things  else,  be  accomplished  at  seeing 
My  jokes. 

I  complete  the  menage  by  including  the  other 

With  all  the  domestic  prestige  of  a  hen : 
As  my  housekeeper,  nurse,  or  it  may  be,  a  mother 
Of  men. 

Total  three!  and  the  virtues  all  well  represented; 

With  fewer  than  this  such  a  thing  can't  be  done; 
Though  I've  known  married  men  who  declare  they're  con- 
tented 

With  one. 

Would  you  hunt  during  harvest,  or  hay-make  in  winter? 

And  how  can  one  woman  expect  to  combine 
Certain  qualifications  essentially  inter- 
necine ? 

You  may  say  that  my  prospects  are  (legally)  sunless; 

I  state  that  I  find  them  as  clear  as  can  be : — 
I  will  marry  no  wife,  since  I  can't  do  with  one  less 
Than  three. 

Owen  Seaman. 


70  Banter 


THE  POPE 

The  Pope  he  leads  a  happy  life, 
lie  fears  not  married  care  nor  strife. 
II«  drinks  the  best  of  Ilhenish  wine, — 
I  would  the  Pope's  gay  lot  were  mine. 

But  yet  all  happy's  not  his  life, 
He  has  no   maid,  nor  blooming  wife; 
No  child  has  he  to  raise  his  hope, — 
I  would  not  wish  to  be  the  Pope. 

The  Sultan  better  pleases  me. 

His  is  a  life  of  jollity; 

He's  wives  as  many  as  he  will, — 

I  would  the  Sultan's  throne  then  ^11. 

But  even   he's   a  wretched  man, 

He  must  obey  the  Alcoran; 

He  dare  not   drink   one   drop   of   wine — 

I  would  not  change  his  lot  for  mine. 

So  here  I'll  take  my  lowly  stand, 
I'll   drink   my   own,   my  native   land; 
I'll  kiss  my  maiden  fair  and  fine. 
And  drink  the  best  of  Khenish  wine. 

And  when  my  maiden  kisses  me 
I'll   think  that  I  the  Sultan  be; 
And  when  my  cheery  glass  I  tope, 
I'll  fancy  then  I  am  the  Pope. 

Charles  Lever. 


ALL  AT  SEA 

THE   VOYAGE   OF    A   CERTAIN    UNCERTAIN    SAILORMAN 

I  SAW  a  certain  sailorman  who  sat  beside  the  sea. 
And  in    the  manner   of   his    tribe   he  yawned   this   yam 
to  me: 


All  at  Sea  71 

"  'Twere  back  in  cighteen-fifty-three,  or  mebbe  fifty-four, 
I  skipped  the  farm, — no,  't  were  the  shop, — an'  went  to 

Baltimore. 
I  shipped   aboard  the  Lizzie — or  she  might  ha'  bin   the 

Jane; 
Them  wimmin  names  are  mixcy,   so  I   don't   remember 

plain; 
But  anyhow,  she  were  a  craft  that  carried  schooner  rig, 
(Although   Sam  Swab,   the  bo'sun,  alius  swore  she  were 

a  brig) ; 
We  sailed  away  from  Salem  Town, — no,  lemme  think; — 

't  were  Lynn, — 
An'  steered  a  course  for  Africa  (or  Greece,  it  might  ha' 

bin) ; 
But  anyway,  we  tacked  an'  backed  an'  weathered  many  a 

storm — 
Oh,  no, — as  I  recall  it  now,  that  week  was  fine  an'  warm! 
Who  did  I  say  the  cap'n  was?    T  didnl  say  at  all? 
Wa-a-11  now,  his  name  were  'Lijah  Bell — or  was  it  Eli 

Ball? 
I  kinder  guess  't  were  Eli.    Ilc'd  a  big,  red,  bushy  beard — 
No-o-o,  come  to  think,  he  alius  kept  his  whiskers  nicely 

sheared. 

But  anyhow,  that  voyage  was  the  first  I'd  ever  took. 

An'  all  I  had  to  do  was  cut  up  cabbage  for  the  cook; 

But  come  to  talk  o'  cabbage  just  reminds  me, — that  there 
trip 

Would  prob'ly  be  my  third  one,  on  a  Hong  Kong  clipper- 
ship. 

The  crew  they  were  a  jolly  lot,  an'  used  to  sing  'Avast' 
I  think  it  were,  or  else  'Ahoy'  while  bailing  out  the  mast. 
And  as  I  recollect  it  now, — " 

But   here  I   cut  him   short. 
And  said:  "It's  time  to  tack  again,  and  bring  your  wits 

to  port; 
T  came  to  get  a  story  both  adventurous  and  true. 
And  here  is  how  I  started  out  to  write  the  interview: 
'I  saw  a  certain  sailormnn,'  but  you  turn  out  to  be 
The  most  wn-certain  sailorman  that  ever  sailed  the  seal" 


72  Banter 

He  puffed  his  pipe,   and  answered,  "Wa-a-11,  I  thought 

'twere  mine,  but  still, 
/  must  ha'  told  the  one  helongs  to  my  twin  brother  Bill!*' 

Frederick  Moxon. 


BALLAD  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  JEST 

I  AM  an  ancient  Jest! 

Paleolithic  man 

In  his  arboreal  nest 

The  sparks  of  fun  would  fan; 

My   outline   did   he  plan, 

And  laughed  like  one  possessed, 

'Twas  thus  my  course  began, 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest. 

I  am  an  early  Jest! 

Man  delved  and  built  and  span; 

Then  wandered  South  and  West 

The  peoples  Aryan, 

7  journeyed  in  their  van; 

The  Semites,  too,  confessed, — 

From  Beersheba  to  Dan, — 

I  am  a  Merry  Jest. 

I  am  an  ancient  Jest, 
Through  all  the  human  clan. 
Red,  black,  white,  free,  oppressed. 
Hilarious  I  ran! 
Fm  found  in  Lucian, 
In  Poggio,  and  the  rest, 
Fm  dear  to  Moll  and  Nan! 
I  am  a  Merry  Jest! 

ENVOY : 

Prince,  you  may  storm  and  ban — 
Joe  Millers  are  a  pest. 
Suppress  me  if  you  can! 
I  am  a  Merry  Jest! 

Andrew  Lang, 


How   to  Eat  Watermelons  73 


VILLANELLE  OF  THINGS  AMUSING 

These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh — 

Life's  a  preposterous  farce,  say  I! 
And  I've  missed  of  too  many  jokes  by  half. 

The  high-heeled  antics  of  colt  and  calf, 

The  men  who  think  they  can  act,  and  try — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh. 

The   hard-boiled   poses  in  photograph, 

The  groom   still   wearing  his  wedding   tie— 
And  I've  missed  of  too  many  jokes  by  half! 

These  are  the  bubbles  I  gayly  quafiF 

With  the  rank  conceit  of  the  new-born  fly — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh! 

For,   Heaven  help  me!  I  needs  must  chaff. 

And  people  will  tickle  me  till   I  die — 
And  I've  missed  of  too  many  jokes  by  half  I 

So  write  me  down  in  my  epitaph 
As  one  too  fond  of  his  health  to  cry — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh. 
And  I've  missed  of  too  many  jokes  by  half! 

Gelett  Burgess. 


HOW  TO  EAT  WATERMELONS 

When  you  slice  a  Georgy  melon  you  mus'  know  what  you 
is  at 
An'  look  out  how  de  knife  is  gwine  in. 
Put  one-half  on  dis  side  er  you— de  yuther  half  on  dat, 
En'  den  you  gits  betwixt  'em,  en  begin! 
Oh,  melons! 

Honey  good  ter  see; 
But  we'en  it  comes  ter  sweetness, 
De  melon   make  fer  me! 


74  Banter 

En  den  you  puts  yo'  knife  up,  en  you  sorter  licks  de  blade, 

En  never  stop  fer  sayin'   any  grace; 
But  eat  on  tell  you  satisfy— roll  over  in  de  shade, 
En  sleei;  ontell  de  sun  shine  in  yo'  face! 
Oh,  melons! 

Honey  good  ter  see; 
But  we'en  it  comes  ter  sweetness, 
De  melon  make  fer  me! 

Frank  Libby  Stanton. 


A  VAGUE  STORY 

Perchance  it  was  her  eyes  of  blue, 

Her  cheeks  that  might  the  rose  have  shamed, 
Her  figure  in  proportion  true 

To  all  the  rules  by  artists  framed; 
Perhaps  it  was   her  mental  worth 

That  made  her  lover  love  her  so. 
Perhaps   her  name,   or  wealth,   or  birth — 

I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know. 

He  may  have  had  a  rival,  who 

Did  fiercely  gage  him  to  a  duel, 
And,  being  luckier  of  the  two. 

Defeated   him  with  triumph   cruel; 
Then  she  may  have  proved  false,  and  turned 

To  welcome  to  her  arms  his  foe. 
Left  him  despairing,  conquered,  spurned — 

I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know. 

So  oft  such  woes  will  counteract 

The  thousand  ecstacies  of  love, 
That  you  may  fix  on  base  of  fact 

The  story  hinted  at  above; 
But  all  on  earth   so  doubtful  is, 

Man  Jcnows  so  little  here  below. 
That,  if  you  ask  for  proof  of  this, 

I  cannot  tell — I  do  not  know. 

Walter  Parke. 


His  Mother-in-Law  75 


HIS  MOTHER-IN-LAW 

He  stood  on  his  head  by  the  wild  seashore, 

And  danced  on  his  hands  a  jig; 
In  all  his  emotions,  as  never  before, 

A  wildly   hilarious  grig. 

And  why?     In  that  ship  just  crossing  the  bay 

His   mother-in-law   had   sailed 
For  a  tropical  country  far  away, 

Where  tigers  and  fever  prevailed. 

Oh,  now  he  might  hope  for  a  peaceful  life 

And  even  be  happy  yet, 
Though   owning  no   end   of  neuralgic  wife. 

And  up  to  his  collar  in  debt. 

He  had  borne  the  old. lady  through  thick  and  thin, 

And  she  lectured  him  out  of  breath; 
And  now   as   he  looked   at   the   ship   she   was   in 

He  howled  for  her  violent  death. 

He  watched  as  the  good  ship  cut  the  sea. 

And  bumpishly  np-and-downed, 
And  thought  if  already  she  qualmish  might  be. 

He'd  consider  his  happiness  crowned. 

He  watched  till  beneath  the  horizon's   edge 

The  ship  was  passing  from  view; 
And  he  sprang  to  the  top  of  a  rocky  ledge 

And   pranced  like  a  kangaroo. 

He  watched  till  the  vessel  became  a  speck 

That  was  lost  in  the  wandering  sea; 
And  then,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck, 

Turned  somersaults  home  to  tea. 

Walter  Parke. 


76  Banter 


ON  A  DEAF  HOUSEKEEPER 

Of  all  life's  plagues  T  recommend  to  no  man 

To  hire  as  a  domestic  a  deaf  woman. 

I've  got  one  who  my  orders  does  not  hear, 

Mishears  them  rather,  and  keeps  blundering  near. 

Thirsty  and  hot,  I  asked  her  for  a  drinh; 

She  bustled  out,  and  brought  me  back  some  ink. 

Eating  a  good  rump-steak,  I  called  for  mustard; 

Away  she  went,  and  whipped  me  up  a  custard. 

T  wanted  with  my  chicken  to  have  ham; 

Blundering  once  more,  she  brought  a  pot    of  jam. 

I  wished  in  season  for  a  cut  of  salmon; 

And  what  she  brought  me  was  a  huge  fat  gammon. 

I  can't  my  voice  raise  higher  and  still  higher, 

As  if  I  were  a  herald  or  town-crier. 

'T  would  better  be  if  she  were  deaf  outright; 

But  anyhow  she  quits  my  house  this  night. 

Unknozim. 

HOMCEOPATHIC  SOUP 

Take  a  robin's  leg 
(Mind,  the  drumstick  merely) ; 

Put  it  in  a  tub 
Filled  with  water  nearly; 

Set  it  out  of  doors, 
In  a  place  that's  shady; 

Let  it  stand  a  week 
(Three  days  if  for  a  lady) ; 

Drop  a  spoonful  of  it 
In  a  five-pail  kettle, 

Which  may  be  made  of  tin 
Or  any  baser  metal; 

Fill  the  kettle  up. 
Set  it  on  a  boiling, 

Strain  the  liquor  well, 
To  prevent  its  oiling; 

One  atom  add  of  salt, 
For  the  thickening  one  rice  kernel. 


Some  Little  Bug  77 

And  use  to  light  the  fire 
"  The  Homoeopathic  Journal." 

Let  the  liquor  boil 
Half  an  hour,  no  longer, 

(If  'tis  for  a  man 
Of  course  you'll  make  it  stronger). 

Should  you  now  desire 
That  the  soup  be  flavoury, 

Stir  it  once  around, 
With  a  stalk  of  savoury. 

When  the  broth  is  made, 
Nothing  can  excell  it: 

Then  three  times  a  day 
Let  the  patient  smell  it. 

If  he  chance  to  die. 
Say  'twas  Nature  did  it: 

If  he  chance  to  live, 
Give  the  soup  the  credit. 

Unknown. 


SOME  LITTLE  BUG 

In  these  days  of  indigestion 
It  is  oftentimes  a  question 

As  to  what  to  eat  and  what  to  leave  alone; 
For  each  microbe  and  bacillus 
Has  a  different  way  to  kill  us, 

And  in  time  they  always  claim  us  for  their  own. 
There  are  germs  of  every  kind 
In  any  food  that  you  can  find 

In  the  market  or  upon  the  bill  of  fare. 
Drinking  water's  just  as  risky 
As  the  so-called  deadly  whiskey, 

And  it's  often  a  mistake  to  breathe  the  air. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you  some  day, 

Then  he'll  send  for  his  bug  friends 

And  all  your  earthly  trouble  ends; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day. 


78  Banter 

The  inviting  green  cucumber 
Gets  most  everybody's  number, 

While  the  green  corn  has  a  system  of  its  own; 
Though  a  radish  seems  nutritious 
Its  behaviour  is  quite  vicious, 

And  a  doctor  will  be  coming  to  your  home. 
Eating  lobster  cooked  or  plain 
Is  only  flirting  with  ptomaine, 

While  an  oyster  sometimes  has  a  lot  to  say, 
But  the  clams  we  eat  in  chowder 
Make  the  angels  chant  the  louder, 

For  they  know  that  we'll  be  with  them  right  away. 

Take  a  slice  of  nice  fried  onion 
And  you're  fit  for  Dr.  Munyon, 

Apple  dumplings  kill  you  quicker  than  a  train. 
Chew  a  cheesy  midnight  "rabbit" 
And  a  grave  you'll  soon  inhabit — 

Ah,  to  eat  at  all  is  such  a  foolish  game. 
Eating  huckleberry  pie 
Is  a  pleasing  way  to  die. 

While  sauerkraut  brings  on  softening  of  the  brain. 
When  you  eat  banana  fritters 
Every  undertaker  titters, 

And  the  casket  makers  nearly  go  insane. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you  some  day, 

With  a  nervous  little  quiver 

He'll  give  cirrhosis  of  the  liver; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day. 

When  cold  storage  vaults  I  visit 
I  can  only  say  what  is  it 

Makes  poor  mortals  fiU  their  systems  with  such 
stuff? 
Now,  for  breakfast,  prunes  are  dandy 
If  a  stomach  pump  is  handy 

And  your  doctor  can  be  found  quite  soon  enough. 
Eat  a  plate  of  fine  pigs'  knuckles 
And  the  headstone  cutter  chuckles, 


On  the  Downtown   Side  of  an  Uptown  Street        79 

While  the  grave  digger  makes  a  note  upon  his  cuflF. 
Eat  that  lovely  red  bologna 
And  you'll  wear  a  wooden  kimona, 

As  your  relatives  start  scrappin  'bout  your  stuff. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you  some  day. 

Eating  juicy  sliced- pineapple 

Makes  the  sexton  dust  the  chapel ; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day. 

All  those  crazy  foods  they  mix 
Will  float  us  'cross  the  River  Styx, 

Or  they'll  start  us  climbing  up  the  milky  way. 
And  the  meals  we  eat  in  courses 
Mean  a  hearse  and  two  black  horses 

So  before  a  meal  some  people  always  pray. 
Luscious  grapes  breed  'pendicitis. 
And  the  juice  leads  to  gastritis. 

So  there's <only  death  to  greet  us  either  way; 
And  fried  liver's  nice,  but,  mind  you, 
Friends  will  soon  ride  slow  behind  you 

And  the  papers  then  will  have  nice  things  to  say. 

Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day, 
Some  little  bug  will  creep  behind  you  some  day 

Eat  some  sauce,  they  call  it  chili, 

On  your  breast  they'll  place  a  lily; 
Some  little  bug  is  going  to  find  you  some  day. 

Roy  Atwell. 


ON  THE  DOWNTOWN  SIDE  OF  AN 
UPTOWN  STREET 

On  the  downtown  side  of  an  uptown  street 

Is  the  home  of  a  girl  that  I'd  like  to  meet, 

But  I'm  on  the  uptown, 

And   she's  on   the   downtown. 

On  the  downtown  side  of  an  uptown  street. 


80  Banter 

On  the  uptown  side  of  the  crowded  old  "  L," 
I  see  her  so  often  I  know  her  quite  well, 

But  I'm  on  the  downtown 

When  she's  on  the  uptown, 
On  the  uptown  side  of  the  crowded  old  "  L." 

On  the  uptown  side  of  a  downtown  street 
This  girl  is  employed  that  I'd  like  to  meet, 

But  I  work  on  the  downtown 

And  she  on  the  uptown. 
The  uptown  side  of  a  downtown  street. 

On  a  downtown  car  of  the  Broadway  line 
Often  I  see  her  for  whom  I  repine. 

But  when  I'm  on  a  uptown 

She's  on  a  downtown, 
On  a  downtown  car  of  the  Broadway  line. 

Oh,  to  be  downtown  when  I  am  uptown, 
Oh,  to  be  uptown  when  I  am  downtown, 

I  work  at  night  time. 

She  in  the  daytime. 
Never  the  right  time  for  us  to  meet, 
Uptown  or  downtown,  in  "  L,"  car  or  street. 

William  Johnston. 


.WRITTEN  AFTER  SWIMMING  FROM  SESTOS 
TO  ABYDOS 

If,  in  the  month  of  dark  December, 

Leander,  who  was  nightly  wont 
(What  maid  will  not  the  tale  remember?) 

To  cross  thy  stream  broad  Hellespont. 

If,  when  the  wint'ry  tempest  roar'd. 

He  sped  to  Hero  nothing  loth, 
And  thus  of  old  thy  current  pour'd. 

Fair  Venus!  how  I  pity  both! 


The  Fisherman's  Chant  81 

For  me,  degenerate,  modern  wretch, 
Though  in  the  genial  month  of  May, 

My  dripping  limbs  I  faintly  stretch. 
And  think  IVe  done  a  feat  to-day. 

But  since  he  crossed  the  rapid  tide. 

According  to  the  doubtful  story, 
To  woo — and — Lord  knows  what  beside. 

And  swam  for  Love,  as  I  for  Glory; 

'T  were  hard  to  say  who  fared  the  best : 
Sad  mortals !  thus  the  gods  still  plague  you ! 

He  lost  his  labor,  I  my  jest; 
For  he  was  drowned,  and  I've  the  ague. 

Lord  Byron, 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  CHANT 

On,  the  fisherman  is  a  happy  wight! 
Ho  dibbles  by  day,  and  he  sniggles  by  night. 
He  trolls  for  fish,  and  he  trolls  his  lay — 
He  sniggles  by  night,  and  he  dibbles  by  day. 
Oh,  who  so  merry  as  he! 
On  the  river  or  the  sea! 
Sniggling, 
Wriggling 
Eels,  and  higgling 
Over  the  price 
Of  a  nice 
-      Slice 

Of  fish,  twice 

As  much  as  it  ought  to  be. 

Oh,  the  fisherman  is  a  happy  man ! 
He  dibbles,  and  sniggles,  and  fills  his  can! 
With  a  sharpened  hook,  and  a  sharper  eye. 
He  sniggles  and  dibbles  for  what  comes  by, 

Oh,  who  so  merry  as  he! 

On  the  river  or  the  sea! 


82  Banter 


Dibbling 

Nibbling 

Chub,  and  quibbling 

Over  the  price 

Of  a  nice 

Slice 

Of  fish,  twice 

As  much  as  it  ought  to  be. 

.  P.  C.  Burnand. 


KEPORT  OF  AN  ADJUDGED  CASE 

NOT   TO  BE  FOUND  IN  ANY   OF  THE  BOOKS 

Between  Noso  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose. 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong; 

The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows, 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 

So  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued  the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig  full  of  learning; 

While  chief  baron  Ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws. 
So  famed  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

In  behalf  of  the  Nose  it  will  quickly  appear, 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find, 

That  the  Nose  has  had  spectacles  always  to  wear. 
Which  amounts  to  possession  time  out  of  mind. 

Then  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court — 

Your  lordship  observes  they  are  made  with  a  straddle 

As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is;  in  short, 
Designed  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 

Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose 

('Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be  again) 

That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  nose. 
Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear  spectacles  then ! 


Prehistoric  Smith  83 

On  the  whole  it  appears,  and  my  aMjument  shows 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  wiLuRver  condemn, 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  SSde  for  the  Nose, 
And  the  Nose  was  as  plainly  Mtended  for  them. 

Then  shifting  his  side  (as  a  lawyer  knows  how), 

IJe  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  Eyes; 
But  what  were  his  arguments  few  people  know, 

For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally  wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed  with  a  grave  solemn  tone, 
Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  if  or  hut — 

That,  whenever  the  Nose  put  his  spectacles  on. 
By  daylight  or  candlelight — Eyes  should  be  shut! 

William  Cowper. 


PREHISTORIC  SMITH 

QUATERNARY   EPOCH — POST-PLIOCENE   PERIOD 

A  MAN  sat  on  a  rock  and  sought 
Refreshment  from  his  thumb; 

A  dinotherium  wandered  by 
And  scared  him  some. 

His  name  was  Smith.    The  kind  of  rock 

He  sat  upon  was  shale. 
One  feature  quite  distinguished  him — 

He  had  a  tail. 

The  danger  past,  he  fell  into 

A  revery  austere; 
While  with  his  tail  he  whisked  a  fly 

From  off  his  ear. 

"  Mankind  deteriorates,'^  he  said, 
"Grows  weak  and  incomplete; 

And  each  new  generation  seems 
Yet  more  effete. 


84  Banter 


d^rs  i: 


"  Nature  aJ^rs  imperfect  work. 

And  on  ^^^^s  her  ban ; 
And  all  cre^^l  must  despise 


A  tailless 


"  But  fashion's  dictates  rule  supreme. 

Ignoring  common  sense; 
And  fashion  says,  to  dock  your  tail 

Is  just  immense. 

"  And  children  now  come  in  the  world 

With  half  a  tail  or  less; 
Too  stumpy  to  convey  a  thought, 

And  meaningless. 

"  It  kills  expression.    How  can  one 

Set  forth,  in  words  that  drag, 
The  best  emotions  of  the  soul, 

Without  a  wag?" 

Sadly  he  mused  upon  the  world. 

Its  follies  and  its  woes; 
Then  wiped  the  moisture  from  his  eyes. 

And  blew  his  nose. 

But  clothed  in  earrings,  Mrs.  Smith 

Came  wandering  down  the  dale; 
And,  smiling,  Mr.  Smith  arose, 

And  wagged  his  tail. 

David  Law  Prouddt. 


SONG 

OF  ONE  ELEVEN   YEARS  IN  PRISON 


Whene'er  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 
This  dungeon  that  I'm  rotting  in, 
I  think  of  those  companions  true 


Song  85 


If 

iHKercl 
eiTOerly 


Who  studied  with  me  at 
Diversity  of  Gottinge 
niversity  of  Gotting 

[Weeps,  and  pulls  out  a  bl|H^erchief,  with  which  he 
wipes  his  eyes ;  gazing  teTOerly  at  it,  he  proceeds—' 


Sweet  kerchief,  check'd  with  heavenly  blue, 

Which  once  my  love  sat  knotting  in ! — 
Alas!  Matilda  then  was  true! 
At  least  I  thought  so  at  the  U 
niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[At  the  repetition  of  this  line  he  clanks  his  chains 
in  cadence. 

m 

Barbs!  Barbs!  alas!  how  swift  you  flew. 

Her  neat  post-wagon  trotting  in ! 
Ye  bore  Matilda  from  my  view; 
Forlorn  I  languished  at  the  U 
niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

17 

This  faded  form !  this  pallid  hue ! 

This  blood  my  veins  is  clotting  in. 
My  years  are  many — they  were  few 
When  first  I  entered  at  the  U 
niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 


There  first  for  thee  my  passion  grew. 

Sweet,  sweet  Matilda  Pottengen! 
Thou  wast  the  daughter  of  my  tu 
tor,  law  professor  at  the  U 
niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 


86  Banter 

Sun,  moon  aHmihou,  vain  world,  adieu, 

That  kings^B^  priests  are  plotting  in; 
Bere  doom'd  to  starve  on  water  gru 
el,  never  shall  I  see  the  U 
niversity  of  Gottingen, 
niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[During  the  last  stanza  he  dashes  his  head  repeatedly  against  the 
walls  of  his  prison ;  and,  finally,  so  hard  as  to  produce  a  visible 
contusion;  he  then  throws  himself  on  the  floor  in  an  agony. 
The  curtain  drops ;  the  music  still  continuing  to  play  till  it  is 
wholly  fallen. 

George  Canning. 


LYING 

I  DO  confess,  in  many  a  sigh, 
My  lips  have  breath'd  you  many  a  lie, 
And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 
Would  lose  them  for  a  lie  or  two? 

Nay— look  not  thus,  with  brow  reproving : 

Lies  are,  my  dear,  the  soul  of  loving! 

If  half  we  tell  the  girls  were  true, 

If  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do. 

Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion. 

The  world  would  be  in  strange  confusion ! 

If  ladies'  eyes  were,  every  one, 

As  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  sun. 

Astronomy  should  leave  the  skies. 

To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyes ! 

Oh  no ! — believe  me,  lovely  girl. 

When  nature  turns  your  teeth  to  pearl, 

Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  fire, 

Your  yellow  locks  to  golden  wire, 

Then,  only  then,  can  heaven  decree, 

That  you  should  live  for  only  me, 

Or  I  for  you,  as  night  and  morn. 

We've  swearing  kiss'd,  and  kissing  sworn. 


strictly  Germ-Proof  87 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear, 
For  once,  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  dear  I 
Whenever  you  may  chance  to  meet 
A  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet. 
Long  as  you're  false  and  he  believes  you, 
Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you, 
So  long  the  blissful  bond  endures; 
And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours: 
But,  oh !  you've  wholly  lost  the  youth 
The  instant  that  he  tells  you  truth! 

Thomas  Moore, 


STRICTLY  GERM-PROOF 

The  Antiseptic  Baby  and  the  Prophylactic  Pup 
Were  playing  in  the  garden  when  the  Bunny  gamboled  up; 
They    looked    upon    the    Creature    with    a    loathing   undis- 
guised ; — 
It  wasn't  Disinfected  and  it  wasn't  Sterilized. 

They  said  it  was  a  Microbe  and  a  Hotbed  of  Disease; 
They  steamed  it  in  a  vapor  of  a  thousand-odd  degrees; 
They  froze  it  in  a  freezer  that  was  cold  as  Banished  Hope 
And  washed  it  in  permanganate  with  carbolated  soap. 

In  sulphureted  hydrogen  they  steeped  its  wiggly  ears; 
They  trimmed  its  frisky  whiskers  with  a  pair  of  hard-boiled 

shears ; 
They  donned  their  rubber  mittens  and  they  took  it  by  the 

hand 
And  'lected  it  a  member  of  the  Fumigated  Band. 

There's  not  a  Micrococcus  in  the  garden  where  they  play; 
They  bathe  in  pure  iodoform  a  dozen  times  a  day; 
And  each  imbibes  his  rations  from  a  Hygienic  Cup — 
The  Bunny  and  the  Baby  and  the  Prophylactic  Pup. 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


88  Banter 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LOVER'S  FRIEND 

Air — "  The  days  we  went  a-gipsying." 

I  WOULD  all  womankind  were  dead, 

Or  banished  o'er  the  sea; 
For  they  have  been  a  bitter  plague 

These  last  six  weeks  to  me : 
It  is  not  that  Vm  touched  myself. 

For  that  I  do  not  fear; 
No  female  face  hath  shown  me  grace 
For  many  a  bygone  year. 

But  'tis  the  most  infernal  bore, 

Of  all  the  bores  I  know. 
To  have  a  friend  who's  lost  his  heart 
A  short  time  ago. 

Whene'er  we  steam  it  to  BlackwaU, 

Or  down  to  Greenwich  run, 
To  quaff  the  pleasant  cider  cup. 

And  feed  on  fish  and  fun ; 
Or  climb  the  slopes  of  Richmond  Hill, 

To  catch  a  breath  of  air: 
Then,  for  my  sins,  he  straight  begins 
To  rave  about  his  fair. 

Oh,  'tis  the  most  tremendous  bore. 

Of  all  the  bores  I  know, 
To  have  a  friend  who's  lost  his  heart 
A  short  time  ago. 

In  vain  you  pour  into  his  ear 
Your  own  confiding  grief; 
In  vain  you  claim  his  sympathy. 

In  vain  you  ask  relief; 
In  vain  you  try  to  rouse  him  by 

Joke,  repartee,  or  quiz; 
His  sole  reply's  a  burning  sigh, 
And  "  What  a  mind  it  is !  " 
O  Lord!  it  is  the  greatest  bore. 

Of  all  the  bores  I  know, 
To  have  a  friend  who's  lost  his  heart 
A  short  time  ago. 


Man's  Place  in  Nature  89 

I've  heard  her  thoroughly  described 

A  hundred  times,  I'm  sure; 
And  all  the  while  I've  tried  to  smile, 

And  patiently  endure; 
He  waxes  strong  upon  his  pangs, 

And  potters  o'er  his  grog; 
And  still  I  say,  in  a  playful  way — 
"  Why  you're  a  lucky  dog !  " 
But  oh !  it  is  the  heaviest  bore. 

Of  all  the  bores  I  know, 
To  have  a  friend  who's  lost  his  heart 
A  short  time  ago. 

I  really  wish  he'd  do  like  me 

When  I  was  young  and  strong; 
I  formed  a  passion  every  week. 

But  never  kept  it  long. 
But  he  has  not  the  sportive  mood 

That  always  rescued  me. 
And  so  I  would  all  women  could 
Be  banished  o'er  the  sea. 

For  'tis  the  most  egregious  bore, 

Of  all  the  bores  I  know, 
To  have  a  friend  who's  lost  his  heart 
A  short  time  ago. 

William  E.  Ayioun. 


I 
MAN'S  PLACE  IN  NATUEE 

DEDICATED   TO   DARWIN    AND    HUXLEY 

They  told  him  gently  he  was  made 

Of  nicely  tempered  mud. 
That  man  no  lengthened  part  had  played 

Anterior  to  the  Flood. 
'Twas  all  in  vain;  he  heeded  not, 

Referring  plant  and  worm, 
Fish,  reptile,  ape,  and  Hottentot, 

To  one  primordial  germ. 


90  Banter 

They  asked  him  whether  he  could  bear 

To  think  his  kind  allied 
To  all  those  brutal  forms  which  were 

In  structure  Pithecoid; 
Whether  he  thought  the  apes  and  us 

Homologous  in  form; 
He  said,  "  Homo  and  Pithecus 

Came  from  one  common  germ." 

They  called  him  "  atheistical," 

"  Sceptic,"  and  "  infidel." 
They  swore  his  doctrines  without  fail 

Would  plunge  him  into  hell. 
But  he  with  proofs  in  no  way  lame. 

Made  this  deduction  firm, 
That  all  organic  beings  came 

From  one  primordial  germ. 

That  as  for  the  Noachian  flood, 

'Twas  long  ago  disproved, 
That  as  for  man  being  made  of  mud, 

All  by  whom  truth  is  loved 
Accept  as  fact  what,  malgre  strife, 

Kesearch  tends  to  confirm — 
That  man,  and  everything  with  life. 

Came  from  one  common  germ. 


-    THE  NEW  VERSION 

A  SOLDIER  of  the  Russians 

Lay  japanned  at  Tschrtzvkjskivitch, 
There  was  lack  of  woman's  nursing 

And  other  comforts  which 
Might  add  to  his  last  moments 

And  smooth  the  final  way;-^- 
But  a  comrade  stood  beside  him 

To  hear  what  he  might  say. 
The  Japanned  Russian  faltered 

As  he  took  that  comrade's  hand. 


Unknown. 


Amazing  Facts  About  Food  91 

And  he  said :  "  I  never  more  shall  see 

My  own,  my  native  land; 
Take  a  message  and  a  token 

To  some  distant  friends  of  mine, 
For  I  was  born  at  Smnlxzrskgqrxzski, 

Fair  Smnlxzrskgqrxzski  on  the  Irkztrvzkimnov." 

W.  J.  Lampton. 


AMAZING  FACTS  ABOUT  FOOD 


The  Food  Scientist  tells  us:  "A  deficiency  of  iron,  phosphorus, 
potassium,  calcium  and  the  other  mineral  salts,  colloids  and 
vitarnines  of  vegetable  origin  leads  to  numerous  forms  of 
physical    disorder." 


I  YEARN  to  bite  on  a  Colloid 

With  phosphorus,  iron  and  Beans; 

I  want  to  be  filled  with  Calcium,  grilled, 
And  Veg'table  Vitarnines! 


I  yearn  to  bite  on  a  Colloid 

(Though  I  don't  know  what  it  means) 
To  line  my  inside  with  Potassium,  fried. 

And  Veg'table  Vitamines. 


I  would  sate  my  soul  with  spinach 

And  dandelion  greens. 
No  eggs,  nor  ham,  nor  hard-boiled  clam, 

But  Veg'table  Vitamines. 


Hi,  Waiter!     Coddle  the  Colloids 

With  phosphorus,  iron  and  Beans; 
Though  Mineral  Salts  may  have  some  faults, 

Bring  on  the  Vitamines. 

Unknown. 


92  Banter 


TRANSCENDENTALISM 

It  is  told,  in  Buddhi-theosophic  schools, 

There  are  rules. 
By  observing  which,  when  mundane  labor  irks 
One  can  simulate  quiescence 
By  a  timely  evanescence 
From  his  Active  Mortal  Essence, 

(Or  his  Works.) 

The  particular  procedure  leaves  research 

In  the  lurch. 
But,  apparently,  this  matter-moulded  form 
Is  a  kind  of  outer  plaster, 
Which  a  well-instructed  Master 
Can  remove  without  disaster 
When  he's  warm. 

And  to  such  as  mourn  an  Indian  Solar  Clime 

At  its  prime 
'Twere  a  thesis  most  immeasurably  fit, 
So  expansively  elastic, 
And  so  plausibly  fantastic, 
That  one  gets  enthusiastic 
For  a  bit. 


Unknown. 


A  "  CAUDAL  "  LECTURE 

Philosophy  shows  us  'twixt  monkey  and  man 
One  simious  line  in  unbroken  extendage; 

Development  only  since  first  it  began — 
And  chiefly  in  losing  the  caudal  appendage. 

Our  ancestors'  holding  was  wholly  in  tail. 

And  the  loss  of  this  feature  we  claim  as  a  merit; 

But  though  often  at  tale-bearing  people  we  rail, 
Tis  rather  a  loss  than  a  gain  we  inherit. 


Salad  93 

The  tail  was  a  rudder — a  capital  thing 
To  a  man  who  was  half — or  a  quarter — seas  over; 

And  as  for  a  sailor,  by  that  he  could  cling, 

And  use  for  his  hands  and  his  feet  both  discover. 

In  the  Arts  it  would  quickly  have  found  out  a  place; 

The  painter  would  use  it  to  steady  his  pencil ; 
In  music,  how  handy  to  pound  at  the  bass  I 

And  then  one  could  write  by  its  ceilings  prehensile. 

The  Army  had  gained  had  the  fashion  endured — 
'Twould  carry  a  sword,  or  be  good  in  saluting; 

If  the  foe  should  turn  tail,  they'd  be  quickly  secured; 
Or,  used  as  a  lasso,  'twould  help  in  recruiting. 

To  the  Force  Hwould  add  force — they  could  "  run  'em  in  "  so 
That  one  to  three  culprits  would  find  himself  equal; 

He  could  collar  the  two,  have  the  other  in  tow — 
A  very  good  form  of  the  Tale  and  its  Sequel. 

In  life  many  uses  'twould  serve  we  should  see — 
A  man  with  no  bed  could  han^  cosily  snoozing; 

'Twould  hold  an  umbrella,  hand  cups  round  at  tea. 
Or  a  candle  support  while  our  novel  perusing. 

In  fact,  when  one  thinks  of  our  loss  from  of  old, 
It  makes  us  regret  that  we  can't  go  in  for  it,  or 

Wish,  like  the  Dane,  we  a  tail  could  unfold. 
Instead  of  remaining  each  one  a  stump  orator. 

William  Sawyer. 


SALAD 

To  make  this  condiment,  your  poet  begs 
The  pounded  yellow  of  two  hard-boiled  eggs; 
Two  boiled  potatoes,  passed  through  kitchen-sieve, 
Smoothness  and  softness  to  the  salad  give; 
Let  onion  atoms  lurk  within  the  bowl, 
And,  half-suspected,  animate  the  whole. 
Of  mordant  mustard  add  a  single  spoon. 
Distrust  the  condiment  that  bites  so  soon ; 


94  Banter 

But  deem  it  not,  thou  man  of  herbs,  a  fault, 

To  add  a  double  quantity  of  salt. 

And,  lastlj^  o'er  the  flavored  compound  toss 

A  magic  soup-spoon  of  anchovy  sauce. 

Oh,  green  and  glorious !    Oh,  herbaceous  treat ! 

'Twould  tempt  the  dying  anchorite  to  eat; 

feack  to  the  world  he'd  turn  his  fleeting  soul, 

And  plunge  his  fingers  in  the  salad  bowl! 

Serenely  full,  the  epicure  would  say, 

Fate  can  not  harm  me,  I  have  dined  to-day ! 

Sydney  Smith. 


ISFEMESIS 

The  man  who  invented  the  women's  waists  that  button  down 

behind. 
And  the  man  who  invented  the  cans  with  keys  and  the  strips 

that  will  never  wind, 
Were  put  to  sea  in  a  leaky  boat  and  with  never  a  bite  to  eat 
But  a  couple  of  dozen  of  pat^t  cans  in  which  was  their  only 

meat. 

And  they  sailed  and  sailed  o'er  the  ocean  wide  and  never 

they  had  a  taste 
Of  aught  to  eat,  for  the  cans  stayed  shut,  and  a  peek-a-boo 

shirtwaist 
Was  all  they  had  to  bale  the  brine  that  came  in  the  leaky 

boat ; 
And  their  tongues  were  thick  and  their  throats  were  dry, 

and  they  barely  kept  afloat. 

They  came  at  last  to  an  island  fair,  and  a  man  stood  on  the 

shore, 
So  tbey  flew  a  signal  of  distress  and  their  hopes  rose  high 

once  more, 
And  they  called  to  him  to  fetch  a  boat,  for  their  craft  was 

sinking  fast, 
And.  a  couple  of  hours  at  best  they  knew  was  all  their  boat 

would  last. 


"  Mona  Lisa  "  95 

So  he  called  to  them  a  cheery  call  and  he  said  he  would  make 

haste, 
But  first  he  must  go  back  to  his  wife  and  button  up  her 

waist, 
Which  would  only  take  him  an  hour  or  so  and  then  he  would 

fetch  a  boat. 
And  the  man  who  invented  the  backstairs  waist,  he  groaned 

in  his  swollen  throat. 

The  hours  passed  by  on  leaden  wings  and  they  saw  another 

man 
In  the  window  of  a  bungalow,  and  he  held  a  tin  meat  can 
In  his  bleeding  hands,  and  they  called  to  him,  not  once  but 

twice  and  thrice. 
And  he  said:  "Just  wait  till  I  open  this  and  I'll  be  there 

in  a  trice !  " 

And  the  man  who  invented  the  patent  cans  he  knew  what 

the  promise  meant, 
So  he  leaped  in  air  with  a  horrid  cry  and  into  the  sea  he  went, 
And  the  bubbles  rose  where  he  sank  and  sank  and  a  groan 

choked  in  the  throat 
Of  the.  man  who  invented  the  backstairs  waist  and  he  sank 

with  the  leaky  boat ! 

/.  W,  Foley. 


"MONA  LISA" 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa! 
Have  you  gone?    Great  Julius  Caesar! 
Who's  the  Chap  so  bold  and  pinchey 
Thus  to  swipe  the  great  da  Vinci, 
Taking  France's  first  Chef  d'oeuvre 
Squarely  from  old  Mr.  Louvre, 
Easy  as  some  pocket-picker 
Would  remove  our  handkerchicker 
As  we  ride  in  careless  folly 
On  some  gaily  bounding  trolley?       ^ 


96  Banter 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa, 
Who's  your  Captor?     Doubtless  he's  a 
Crafty  sort  of  treasure-seeker — 
Ne'er  a  Turpin  e'er  was  sleeker — 
But,  alas,  if  he  can  win  you 
Easily  as  T  could  chin  you, 
What  is  safe  in  all  the  nations 
From  his  dreadful  depredations? 
He's  the  style  of  Chap,  I'm  thinkin'. 
Who  will  drive  us  all  to  drinkin'! 

Mona  Lisa,  Mona  Lisa, 
Next  he'll  swipe  the  Tower  of  Pisa, 
Pulling  it  from  out  its  socket 
For  to  hide  it  in  his  pocket; 
Or  perhaps  he'll  up  and  steal,  O, 
Madame  Venus,  late  of  Milo; 
Or  maybe  while  on  the  grab  he 
Will  annex  Westminster  Abbey, 
And  elope  with  that  distinguished 
Heap  of  Ashes  long  extinguished. 

Maybe  too,  O  Mona  Lisa, 
He  will  come  across  the  seas  a — 
Searching  for  the  style  of  treasure 
That  we  have  in  richest  measure. 
Sunset  Cox's  brazen  statue, 
Have  a  care  lest  he  shall  catch  you  I 
Or  maybe  he'll  set  his  eye  on 
Hammerstein's,  or  the  Flatiron, 
Or  some  bit  of  White  Wash  done 
By  those  lads  at  Washington — 

Truly  he's  a  crafty  geezer, 
Is  your  Captor,  Mona  Lisa ! 

John  Kendrick  Bangs. 

THE  SIEGE  OF  DJKLXPRWBZ 

Before  a  Turkish  town 

The  Russians  came- 
And  with  huge  cannon 

Did  bombard  the  same. 


Rural  Bliss  97 

They  got  up  close 

And  rained  fat  bombshells  down, 
And  blew  out  every 

Vowel  in  the  town. 

And  then  the  Turks, 

Becoming  somewhat  sad, 
Surrendered  every 

Consonant  they  had. 

Eugene  Fitch   Ware. 


RURAL  BLISS 

The  poet  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  hater  of  the  city. 

And  so,  when  happiness  is  mine,  and  Maud  becomes  my 
wife, 

We'll  look  on  town  inhabitants  with  sympathetic  pity. 
For  we  shall  lead  a  peaceful  and  serene  Arcadian  life. 

Then  shall  I  sing  in  eloquent  and  most  effective  phrases. 
The  grandeur  of  geraniums  and  the  beauty  of  the  rose; 

Immortalise  in  deathless  strains  the  buttercups  and  daisies — 
For  even  I  can  hardly  be  mistaken  as  to  those. 

The  music  of  the  nightingale  will  ring  from  leafy  hollow, 
And  fill  us  with  a  rapture  indescribable  in  words; 

And  we  shall  also  listen  to  the  robin  and  the  swallow 

(I  wonder  if  a  swallow  sings?)  and  .    .    .  well,  the  other 
birds. 

Too  long  I  dwelt  in  ignorance  of  all  the  countless  treasures 
Which   dwellers  in   the  country   have  in   such   abundant 
store ; 

To  give  a  single  instance  of  the  multitude  of  pleasures — 
The  music  of  the  nighting — oh,  I  mentioned  that  before. 

And  shall  I  prune  potato-trees  and  artichokes,  I  wonder. 
And   cultivate  the   silo-plant,   which    springs    (I   hope   it 
springs?) 

In  graceful  foliage  overhead? — Excuse  me  if  I  blunder. 
It's  really  inconvenient  not  to  know  the  name  of  things ! 


98  Banter 

No  matter;  in  the  future,  when  I  celebrate  the  beauty 
Of  country  life  in  glowing  terms,  and  "  build  the  lofty 
rhyme  " 
Aware  that  every  Englishman  is  bound  to  do  his  duty, 
I'll  learn  to  give  the  stupid  things  their  proper  names  in 
time ! 

Meanwhile,  you  needn't  wonder  at  the  view  Fve  indicated, 

The  country  life  appears  to  me  indubitably  blest. 
For,  even  if  its  other  charms  are  somewhat  overstated, 

As  long  as  Maud  is  there,  you  see, — what  matters  all  the 
rest? 

Anthony  C.  D^ane, 


AN  OLD  BACHELOR 

'TwAS  raw,  and  chill,  and  cold  outside, 

With  a  boisterous  wind  untamed. 
But  I  was  sitting  snug  within, 
Where  my  good  log-fire  flamed. 
As  my  clock  ticked, 
My  cat  purred, 
And  my  kettle  sang. 

I  read  me  a  tale  of  war  and  love, 

Brave  knights  and  their  ladies  fair; 
And  I  brewed  a  brew  of  stiff  hot-scotch 
To  drive  away  dull  care. 
As  my  clock  ticked, 
My  cat  purred. 
And  my  kettle  sang. 

At  last  the  candles  sputtered  out. 
But  the  embers  still  were  bright, 
When  I  turned  my  tumbler  upside  down. 
An'  bade  m'self  g'  night ! 
As  th'  ket'l  t-hic-ked, 
The  clock  purred, 
And  the  cat  (hie)  sang! 

Tudor  Jenks. 


Song  99 


SONG 

Three  score  and  ten  by  common  calculation 
The  years  of  man  amount  to ;  but  we'll  say 

He  turns  four-score,  yet,  in  my  estimation, 
In  all  those  years  he  has  not  lived  a  day. 

Out  of  the  eighty  you  must  first  remember 
The  hours  of  night  you  pass  asleep  in  bed; 

And,  counting  from  December  to  December, 

Just  half  your  life  you'll  find  you  have  been  dead. 

To  forty  years  at  once  by  this  reduction 
We  come;  and  sure,  the  first  five  from  your  birth. 

While  cutting  teeth  and  living  upon  suction. 
You're  not  alive  to  what  this  life  is  worth. 

From  thirty-five  next  take  for  education 
Fifteen  at  least  at  college  and  at  school ; 

When,  notwithstanding  all  your  application. 
The  chances  are  you  may  turn  out  a  fool. 

Still  twenty  we  have  left  us  to  dispose  of. 
But  during  them  your  fortune  you've  to  make; 

And  granting,  with  the  luck  of  some  one  knows  of, 
'Tis  made  in  ten — that's  ten  from  life  to  take. 

Out  of  the  ten  yet  left  you  must  allow  for 
The  time  for  shaving,  tooth  and  other  aches. 

Say  four — and  that  leaves,  six,  too  short,  I  vow,  for 
Regretting  past  and  making  fresh  mistakes. 

Meanwhile  each  hour  dispels  some  fond  illusion; 

Until  at  length,  sans  eyes,  sans  teeth,  you  may 
Have  scarcely  sense  to  come  to  this  conclusion — 

You've  reached  four-score,  but  haven't  lived  a  day ! 

/.  R.  Planche. 


100  Banter 


THE  QUEST  OF  THE  PUKPLE  COW 

He  girded  on  his  shining  sword, 

He  clad  him  in  his  suit  of  mail, 
He  gave  his  friends  the  parting  word, 

With  high  resolve  his  face  was  pale. 
They  said,  "  You've  kissed  the  Papal  Toe, 

To  great  Moguls  youVe  made  your  bow. 
Why  will  you  thus  world- wandering  go  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  a  purple  cow !  " 

"  I  never  saw  a  purple  cow ! 

Oh,  hinder  not  my  wild  emprise — 
Let  me  depart!     For  even  now 

Perhaps,  before  some  yokel's  eyes 
The  purpling  creature  dashes  by. 

Bending  its  noble,  horned  brow. 
They  see  its  glowing  charms,  but  I — 

I  never  saw  a  purple  cow ! " 

"But  other  cows  there  be,"  they  said, 

"  Both  cows  of  high  and  low  degree, 
Suffolk  and  Devon,  brown,  black,  red, 

The  Ayrshire  and  the  Alderney. 
Content  yourself  with  these."    "  No,  no," 

He  cried,  "  Not  these !    Not  these !    For  how 
Can  common  kine  bring  comfort?     Oh! 

I  never  saw  a  purple  cow ! " 

He  flung  him  to  his  charger's  back. 

He  left  his  kindred  limp  and  weak. 
They  cried :  "  He  goes,  alack !  alack ! 

The  unattainable  to  seek." 
But  westward  still  he  rode — pardee! 

The  West!    Where  such  freaks  be;  I  vow, 
Pd  not  be  much  surprised  if  he 
Should  some  day  see 
A 
Purple 

Cow! 

Hilda  Johnson. 


St.  Patrick  of  Irela^d^- My  Dear!        , ;  lOl*. 


ST.  1>ATRICK  OF  lEELAND,  MY  DEAE! 

A  FIG  for  St.  Denis  of  France — 

He's  a  trumpery  fellow  to  brag  on; 
A  fig  for  St.  George  and  his  lance, 

Which  spitted  a  heathenish  dragon; 
And  the  saints  of  the  Welshman  or  Scot 

Are  a  couple  of  pitiful  pipers, 
Both  of  whom  may  just  travel  to  pot. 

Compared  with  that  patron  of  swipers — 
St.  Patrick  of  Ireland,  my  dear! 

He  came  to  the  Emerald  Isle 

On  a  lump  of  a  paving-stone  mounted; 
The  steamboat  he  beat  by  a  mile. 

Which  mighty  good  sailing  was  counted. 
Says  he,  "  The  salt  water,  I  think. 

Has  made  me  most  bloodily  thirsty; 
So  bring  me  a  flagon  of  drink 

To  keep  down  the  mulligrubs,  burst  ye! 
Of  drink  that  is  fit  for  a  saint ! " 

He  preached,  then,  with  wonderful  force, 

The  ignorant  natives  a-teaching; 
With  a  pint  he  washed  down  his  discourse,     . 

"  For,"  says  he,  "  I  detest  your  dry  preaching." 
The  people,  with  wonderment  struck 

At  a  pastor  so  pious  and  civil. 
Exclaimed — "  We're  for  you,  my  old  buck ! 

And  we  pitch  our  blind  gods  to  the  devil. 
Who  dwell?  in  hot  water  below ! " 

This  ended,  our  worshipful  spoon 

Went  to  visit  an  elegant  fellow, 
Whose  practice,  each  cool  afternoon. 

Was  to  get  most  delightfully  mellow. 
That  day  with  a  black-jack  of  beer. 

It  chanced  he  was  treating  a  party; 
Says  the  saint — "  This  good  day,  do  you  hear, 

I  drank  nothing  to  speak  of,  my  hearty ! 
So  give  me  a  pull  at  the  pot ! " 


.\a2  :-.':     :  /.Banter 

The  pewter  he  lifted  in  sport 

(Believe  me,  1  tell  you  no  fable) ; 
A  gallon  he  drank  from  the  quart. 

And  then  placed  it  full  on  the  table. 
"  A  miracle !  "  every  one  said — 

And  they  all  took  a  haul  at  the  stingo ; 
They  were  capital  hands  at  the  trade, 

And  drank  till  they  fell;  yet,  by  jingo. 
The  pot  still  frothed  over  the  brim. 

Next  day,  quoth  his  host,  "  'Tis  a  fast, 

And  I've  nought  in  my  larder  but  mutton; 
And  on  Fridays  who'd  made  such  repast, 

Except  an  unchristian-like  glutton  ? " 
Says  Pat,  "  Cease  your  nonsense,  I  beg — 

What  you  tell  me  is  nothing  but  gammon; 
Take  my  compliments  down  to  the  leg, 

And  bid  it  come  hither  a  salmon!  " 
And  the  leg  most  politely  complied. 

You've  heard,  I  suppose,  long  ago, 

How  the  snakes,  in  a  manner  most  antic. 
He  marched  to  the  county  Mayo, 

And  trundled  them  into  th'  Atlantic. 
Hence,  not  to  use  water  for  drink, 

The  people  of  Ireland  determine — 
With  mighty  good  reason,  I  think, 

Since  St.  Patrick  has  filled  it  with  vermin 
And  vipers,  and  other  such  stuff! 

Oh,  he  was  an  elegant  blade 

As  you'd  meet  from  Fairhead  to  Kilcrumper; 
And  though  under  the  sod  he  is  laid, 

Yet  here  goes  his  health  in  a  bumper  I 
I  wish  he  was  here,  that  my  glass 

He  might  by  art  magic  replenish; 
But  since  he  is  not — why,  alas! 

My  ditty  must  come  to  a  finish, — 
Because  all  the  liquor  is  out ! 

William  Maginn. 


The  Irish  Schoolmaster  103 


THE  IKISH  SCHOOLMASTER 

"  Come  here,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  who  King  David  was — 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  King  David  was  a  mighty  man, 

And  he  was  King  of  Spain,  Sir; 
His  eldest  daughter  *  Jessie '  was 

The  '  Flower  of  Dunblane,'  Sir." 


"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Sir  Isaac  Newton — who  was  he  ? 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  the  boy    * 

That  climbed  the  apple-tree.  Sir; 
He  then  fell  down  and  broke  his  crown, 

And  lost  his  gravity.  Sir." 

"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  who  ould  Marmion  was — 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  Ould  Marmion  was  a  soldier  bold, 

Eut  he  went  all  to  pot.  Sir; 
He  was  hanged  upon  the  gallows  tree. 

For  killing  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Sir." 


"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  who  Sir  Rob  Roy  was; 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can,  Sir." 
"  Sir  Rob  Roy  was  a  tailor  to 

The  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands; 
He  spoiled  a  pair  of  breeches,  and 

Was  banished  to  the  Highlands." 


104  Banter 

"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head, 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Then,  Bonaparte — say,  who  was  he? 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  Ould  Bonaparte  was  King  of  France 

Before  the  Revolution; 
But  he  was  kilt  at  Waterloo, 

Which  ruined  his  constitution." 

"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head, 

And  look  like  a  jintleman.  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  who  King  Jonah  was; 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  King  Jonah  was  the  strangest  man 

That  ever  wore  a  crown.  Sir; 
For  though  the  whale  did  swallow  him, 

It  couldn't  keep  him  down,  Sir." 

"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman.  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  who  that  Moses  was; 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  Shure  Moses  was  the  Christian  name 

Of  good  King  Pharaoh's  daughter; 
She  was  a  milkmaid,  and  she  took 

A  profit  from  the  water." 

**  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 

And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 
Jist  tell  me  now  where  Dublin  is; 

Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 
"  Och,  Dublin  is  a  town  in  Cork, 

And  built  on  the  equator; 
It's  close  to  Mount  Vesuvius, 

And  watered  by  the  '  craythur.' " 

"  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head. 
And  look  like  a  jintleman,  Sir; 

Jist  tell  me  now  where  London  is ; 
Now  tell  me  if  you  can.  Sir." 


Reflections  on  Cleopathera's  Needle  •         105 

"  Och,  London  is  a  town  in  Spain ; 
'Twas  lost  in  the  earthquake,  Sir; 
The  cockneys  murther  English  there, 
Whenever  they  do  spake,  Sir." 

'*  You're  right,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head, 

Ye're  now  a  jintleman.  Sir; 
For  in  history  and  geography 

I've  taught  you  all  I  can,  Sir. 
And  if  any  one  should  ask  you  now. 

Where  you  got  all  your  knowledge, 
Jist  tell  them  'twas  from  Paddy  Blake, 

Of  Bally  Blarney  College." 

James  A.  Sidey. 


EEFLECTIONS  ON  CLEOPATHEKA'S  NEEDLE 

So  that's  Cleopathera's  Needle,  bedad, 
An'  a  quare  lookin'  needle  it  is,  I'll  be  bound; 

What  a  powerful  muscle  the  queen  must  have  had 
That  could  grasp  such  a  weapon  an'  wind  it  around! 

Imagine  her  sittin'  there  stitchin'  like  mad 

Wid  a  needle  like  that  in  her  hand!    I  declare 

It's  as  big  as  the  Round  Tower  of  Slane,  an',  bedad. 
It  would  pass  for  a  round  tower,  only  it's  square! 

The  taste  of  her,  ordherin'  a  needle  of  granite! 

Begorra,  the  sight  of  it  sthrikes  me  quite  dumb! 
An'  look  at  the  quare  sort  of  figures  upon  it ; 

I  wondher  can  these  be  the  thracks  of  her  thumb  I 

I  once  was  astonished  to  hear  of  the  faste 
Cleopathera  made  upon  pearls;  but  now 

I  declare,  I  would  not  be  surprised  in  the  laste 
If  ye  told  me  the  woman  had  swallowed  a  cow! 

It's  aisy  to  see  why  bould  Caesar  should  quail 
In  her  presence,  an'  meekly  submit  to  her  rule ; 


106        .  Banter 

Wid  a  weapon  like  that  in  her  fist  I'll  go  bail 

She  could  frighten  the  sowl  out  of  big  Finn  MacCool! 

But,  Lord,  what  poor  pigmies  the  women  are  now, 

Compared  with  the  monsthers  they  must  have  been  then! 

Whin  the  darlin's  in  those  days  would  kick  up  a  row. 
Holy  smoke,  but  it  must  have  been  hot  for  the  men! 

Just  think  how  a  chap  that  goes  courtin'  would  start 
If  his  girl  was  to  prod  him  wid  that  in  the  shins! 

I  have  often  seen  needles,  but  bouldly  assart 

That  the  needle  in  front  of  me  there  takes  the  pins! 

O,  sweet  Cleopathera!  I'm  sorry  you're  dead; 

An'  whin  lavin'  this  wondherful  needle  behind 
Had  ye  thought  of  bequathin'  a  spool  of  your  thread 

An'  yer  thimble  an'  scissors,  it  would  have  been  kind. 

But  pace  to  your  ashes,  ye  plague  of  great  men, 
Yer  strength  is  departed,  yer  glory  is  past; 

Ye'll  never  wield  sceptre  or  needle  again, 
An'  a  poor  little  asp  did  yer  bizzness  at  last! 

Cormac  O'Leary. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  IRELAND 

With  due  condescension,  I'd  call  your  attention 
To  what  I  shall  mention  of  Erin  so  green, 
And  without  hesitation  I  will  show  how  that  nation 
Became  of  creation  the  gem  and  the  queen. 

'Twas  early  one  morning,  without  any  warning, 
That  Vanus  was  born  in  the  beautiful  say. 
And  by  the  same  token,  and  sure  'twas  provoking, 
Her  pinions  were  soaking  and  wouldn't  give  play. 

Old  Neptune,  who  knew  her,  began  to  pursue  her, 
In  order  to  woo  her — the  wicked  old  Jew — 
And  almost  had  caught  her  atop  of  the  water — 
Great  Jupiter's  daughter! — which  never  would  do. 


As  to  the  Weather  107 

But  Jove,  the  great  janius,  looked  down  and  saw  Vanus, 
And  Neptune  so  heinous  pursuing  her  wild, 
And  he  spoke  out  in  thunder,  he'd  rend  him  asunder — 
And  sure  'twas  no  wonder — for  tazing  his  child. 

A  star  that  was  flying  hard  by  him  espying, 
He  caught  with  small  trying,  and  down  let  it  snapj 
It  fell  quick  as  winking,  on  Neptune  a-sinking, 
And  gave  him,  Pm  thinking,  a  bit  of  a  rap. 

That  star  it  was  dry  land,  both  low  land  and  high  land, 
And  formed  a  sweet  island,  the  land  of  my  birth; 
Thus  plain  is  the  story,  that  sent  down  from  glory, 
Old  Erin  asthore  as  the  gem  of  the  earth ! 

Upon  Erin  nately  jumped  Vanus  so  stately. 
But  fainted,  kase  lately  so  hard  she  was  pressed — 
Which  much  did  bewilder,  but  ere  it  had  killed  her 
Her  father  distilled  her  a  drop  of  the  best. 

That  sup  was  victorious,  it  made  her  feel  glorious — 
A  little  uproarious,  I  fear  it  might  prove — 
So  how  can  you  blame  us  that  Ireland's  so  famous 
For  drinking  and  beauty,  for  fighting  and  love? 

Unknown. 


AS  TO  THE  WEATHER 

I  remember,  I  remember. 

Ere  my  childhood  flitted  by, 
It  was  cold  then  in  December, 

And  was  warmer  in  July. 
In  the  winter  there  were  freezings — 

In  the  summer  there  were  thaws; 
But  the  weather  isn't  now  at  all 

Like  what  it  used  to  was! 

Unknown. 


108  Banter 


THE  TWINS 

In  form  and  feature,  face  and  limb, 

I  grew  so  like  my  brother, 
That  folks  got  taking  me  for  him, 

And  each  for  one  another. 
It  puzzled  all  our  kith  and  kin. 

It  reached  an  awful  pitch; 
For  one  of  us  was  born  a  twin. 

Yet  not  a  soul  knew  which. 

One  day  (to  make  the  matter  worse), 

Before  our  names  were  fix'd. 
As  we  were  being  wash'd  by  nurse 

We  got  completely  mix'd; 
And  thus,  you  see,  by  Fate's  decree, 

(Or  rather  nurse's  whim). 
My  brother  John  got  christen'd  me. 

And  I  got  christen'd  him. 

This  fatal  likeness  even  dogg'd 

My  footsteps  when  at  school, 
And  I  was  always  getting  flogg'd. 

For  John  turned  out  a  fool. 
I  put  this  question  hopelessly 

To  every  one  I  knew — 
What  would  you  do,  if  you  were  me, 

To  prove  that  you  were  you? 

Our  close  resemblance  turn'd  the  tide 

Of  my  domestic  life; 
For  somehow  my  intended  bride 

Became  my  brother's  wife. 
In  short,  year  after  year  the  same 

Absurd  mistakes  went  on; 
And  when  I  died — the  neighbors  came 

And  buried  brother  John! 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


n 

THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE 

HE  AND  SHE 

When  I  am  dead  you'll  find  it  hard. 

Said  he, 
To  ever  find  another  man 

Like  me. 


What  makes  you  think,  as  I  suppose 

You  do, 
I'd  ever  want  another  man 

Like  you? 

Eugene  Fitch  Ware. 


THE  KISS 

"  What  other  men  have  dared,  I  dare," 
He  said.    "  I'm  daring,  too : 

And  tho'  they  told  me  to  beware, 
One  kiss  I'll  take  from  you. 

"Did  I  say  one?    Forgive  me,  dear; 

That  was  a  grave  mistake. 
For  when  I've  taken  one^  I  fear, 

One  hundred  more  I'll  take. 

"  'Tis  sweet  one  kiss  from  you  to  win, 

But  to  stop  there?    Oh,  no! 
One  kiss  is  only  to  begin; 
'  There  is  no  end,  you  know." 
109 


110  The  Eternal  Feminine 

The  maiden  rose  from  where  she  sat 

And  gently  raised  her  head : 
"  No  man  has  ever  talked  like  that — 

You  may  begin,"  she  said. 

Tom  Masson 


THE  COURTIN^ 

God  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an^  still 
Fur  'z  you  can  look  or  listen, 

Moonshine  an'  snow  on  field  an'  hill, 
All  silence  an'  all  glisten. 

Zekle  crep'  up  quite  unbeknown 
An'  peeked  in  thru'  the  winder. 

An'  there  sot  Huldy  all  alone, 
'Ith  no  one  nigh  to  hender. 


A  fireplace  filled  the  room's  one  side 
With  half  a  cord  o'  wood  in — 

There  warn't  no  stoves  (tell  comfort  died) 
To  bake  ye  to  a  puddin'. 

The  wa'nut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Towards  the  pootiest,  bless  her. 

An'  leetle  flames  danced  all  about 
The  chiny  on  the  dresser. 

Agin  the  chimbley  crook-necks  hung, 

An'  in  amongst  'em  rusted 
The  ole  queen's-arm  that  Gran'ther  Young 

Fetched  back  f  om  Concord  busted. 


The  very  room,  coz  she  was  in. 
Seemed  warm  f'om  floor  to  ceilin'. 

An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 
Ez  the  apples  she  was  peelin'. 


The  Courtin'  111 

Twas  kin'  o'  kingdom-come  to  look 

On  sech  a  blessed  cretur; 
A  dogrose  blushin'  to  a  brook 

Ain't  modester  nor  sweeter. 

He  was  six  foot  o'  man,  A  1, 

Clear  grit  an*  huAan  natur'; 
None  couldn't  quicker  pitch  a  ton 

Nor  dror  a  furrer  straighter. 

He'd  sparked  it  with  full  twenty  gals, 
He'd  squired  'em,  danced  'em,  druv  'em, 

Fust  this  one,  an'  then  thet,  by  spells — 
All  is,  he  couldn't  love  'em. 

But  long  o'  her  his  veins  'ould  run 

All  crinkly  like  curled  maple; 
The  side  she  breshed  felt  full  o'  sun 

Ez  a  south  slope  in  Ap'il. 

She  thought  no  v'ice  hed  sech  a  swing 

Ez  hisn  in  the  choir; 
My !  when  he  made  Ole  Hunderd  ring. 

She  Jcnowed  the  Lord  was  nigher. 

An'  she'd  blush  scarlit,  right  in  prayer. 

When  her  new  meetin'-bunnet 
Felt  somehow  thru  its  crown  a  pair 

O'  blue  eyes  sot  npun  it. 

Thet  night,  I  tell  ye,  she  looked  some! 

She  seemed  to  've  gut  a  new  soul. 
For  she  felt  sartin-sure  he'd  come, 

Down  to  her  very  shoe-sole. 

She  heered  a  foot,  an'  knowed  it  tu, 

A-raspin'  on  the  scraper — 
All  ways  to  once  her  feelins  flew 

Like  sparks  in  bumt-up  paper. 


112  The  Eternal  Feminine 

He  kin'  o'  I'itered  on  the  mat, 

Some  doubtfle  o'  the  sekle; 
His  heart  kep'  goin'  pity-pat. 

But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 

An'  yit  she  gin  her  cheer  a  jerk 
Ez  though  she  wishj^  him  furder, 

An'  on  her  apples  kep'  to  work, 
Parin'  away  like  murder. 

"  You  want  to  see  my  Pa,  T  s'pose  ? " 

"  Wal  ...  no  ...  I  come  dasignin' — " 

"To  see  my  Ma?    She's  sprinklin'  clo'es 
Agin  to-morrer's  i'nin'." 

To  say  why  gals  act  so  or  so, 

Or  don't,  'ould  be  presumin'; 
Mebbe  to  mean  yes  an'  say  no 

Comes  nateral  to  women. 

He  stood  a  spell  on  one  foot  fust, 

Then  stood  a  spell  on  t'other. 
An'  on  which  one  he  felt  the  wust 

He  couldn't  ha'  told  ye  nuther. 

Says  he,  "  I'd  better  call  agin  " ; 

Says  she,  "  Think  likely,  Mister " ; 
Thet  last  word  pricked  him  like  a  pin, 

An'  ...  Wal,  he  up  an'  kist  her. 

When  Ma  bimeby  upon  'em  slips, 

Huldy  sot  pale  ez  ashes, 
All  kin'  o'  smily  roun'  the  lips 

An'  teary  roun'  the  lashes. 

Por  she  was  jes'  the  quiet  kind 

Whose  naturs  never  vary. 
Like  streams  that  keep  a  summer  mind 

Snowhid  in  Jenooary. 


Hiram  Hover  113 

The  blood  clost  roun'^  her  heart  felt  glued 

Too  tight  for  all  expressin', 
Tell  mother  see  how  metters  stood, 

An'  gin  'em  both  her  blessin'. 

Then  her  red  come  back  like  the  tide 

Down  to  the  Bay  o'  Fundy, 
An'  all  I  know  is  they  was  cried 

In  meetin'  come  nex'  Sunday. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


HIRAM  HOVER 

A  BALLAD   OF  NEW   ENGLAND   LIFE 

Where  the  Moosatockmaguntic 
Pours  its  waters  in  the  Skuntic, 
Met,  along  the  forest  side 
Hiram  Hover,  Huldah  Hyde. 

She,  a  maiden  fair  and  dapper, 
He,  a  red-haired,  stalwart  trapper, 
Hunting  beaver,  mink,  and  skunk 
In  the  woodlands  of  Squeedunk. 

She,  Pentucket's  pensive  daughter. 
Walked  beside  the  Skuntic  water 
Gathering,  in  her  apron  wet. 
Snake-root,  mint,  and  bouncing-bet. 

"  Why,"  he  murmured,  loth  to  leave  her, 
"  Gather  yarbs  for  chills  and  fever, 
When  a  lovyer  bold  and  true, 
Only  waits  to  gather  you? " 

"  Go,"  she  answered,  "  I'm  not  hasty, 

I  prefer  a  man  more  tasty; 

Leastways,  one  to  please  me  well 
Should  not  have  a  beasty  smell." 


114  The  Eternal  Feminine 

"Haughty  Huldah!"  Hiram  answered, 
"Mind  and  heart  alike  are  cancered; 
Jest  look  here!  these  peltries  give 
Cash,  wherefrom  a  pair  may  live. 

"  I,  you  think,  am  but  a  vagrant, 
Trapping  beasts  by  no  means  fragrant; 
Yet,  I'm  sure  it's  worth  a  thank — 
I've  a  handsome  sum  in  bank." 


Turned  and  vanished  Hiram  Hover, 
And,  before  the  year  was  over, 
Huldah,  with  the  yarbs  she  sold. 
Bought  a  cape,  against  the  cold. 

Black  and  thick  the  furry  cape  was. 
Of  a  stylish  cut  the  shape  was; 
And  the  girls,  in  all  the  town. 
Envied  Huldah  up  and  down. 

Then  at  last,  one  winter  morning, 
Hiram  came  without  a  warning. 
"  Either,"  said  he,  "  you  are  blind, 
Huldah,  or  you've  changed  your  mind. 

"  Me  you  snub  for  trapping  varmints, 
Yet  you  take  the  skins  for  garments; 
Since  you  wear  the  skunk  and  mink, 
There's  no  harm  in  me,  I  think." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  we  will  not  quarrel, 
Hiram;  I  accept  the  moral, 

Now  the  fashion's  so  I  guess 

I  can't  hardly  do  no  less." 

Thus  the  trouble  all  was  over 

Of  the  love  of  Hiram  Hover. 
Thus  he  made  sweet  Huldah  Hyde 
Huldah  Hover  as  his  bride. 


Blow  Me  Eyes  115 

Love  employs,  with  equal  favor, 

Things  of  good  and  evil  savor; 
That  which  first  appeared  to  part, 
Warmed,  at  last,  the  maiden's  heart. 

Under  one  impartial  banner. 
Life,  the  hunter,  Love  the  tanner, 

Draw,  from  every  beast  they  snarej 

Comfort  for  a  wedded  pair! 

Bayard   Taylor, 


BLOW  ME  EYES ! 

When  I  was  young  and  full  o'  pride, 

A-standin'  on  the  grass 
And  gazin'  o'er  the  water-side, 

I  seen  a  fisher  lass. 
"  O,  fisher  lass,  be  kind  awhile," 

I  asks  'er  quite  unbid. 
"Please  look  into  me  face  and  smile'  — 

And,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did ! 

O,  blow  me  light  and  blow  me  blow, 
I  didn't  think  she'd  charm  me  so — 
But,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 

She  seemed  so  young  and  beautiful 
I  had  to  speak  perlite, 

(The  afternoon  was  long  and  dull. 
But  she  was  short  and  bright). 

"  This  ain't  no  place,"  I  says,  "  to  stand- 
Let's  take  a  walk  instid. 

Each  holdin'  of  the  other's  hand  " — 
And,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 

O,  blow  me  light  and  blow  me  blow, 
I  sort  o'  thunk  she  wouldn't  go — 
But,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 


116  The  Eternal  Feminine 

And  as  we  walked  along  a  lane 

With  no  one  else  to  see, 
Me  heart  was  filled  with  sudden  pain, 

And  so  I  says  to  she : 
"  If  you  would  have  me  actions  speak 

The  words  what  can't  be  hid, 
You'd  sort  o'  let  me  kiss  yer  cheek  " — 

And,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 

O,  blow  me  light  and  blow  me  blow, 
How  sweet  she  was  I  didn't  know — 
But,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 

But  pretty  soon  me  shipmate  Jim 

Came  strollin'  down  the  beach. 
And  she  began  a-oglin'  him 

As  pretty  as  a  peach. 
"  O,  fickle  maid  o'  false  intent," 

Impulsively  I  chid, 
"  Why  don't  you  go  and  wed  that  gent  ? " 

And,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did! 

,  O,  blow  me  light  and  blow  me  blow, 
I  didn't  think  she'd  treat  me  so — 
But,  blow  me  eyes,  she  did ! 

Wallace  Irwin. 


FIKST  LOVE 

O  MY  earliest  love,  who,  ere  I  number'd 
Ten  sweet  summers,  made  my  bosom  thrill! 

Will  a  swallow — or  a  swift,  or  some  bird — 
Fly  to  her  and  say,  I  love  her  still? 

Say  my  life's  a  desert  drear  and  arid, 
To  its  one  green  spot  I  aye  recur: 

Never,  never — although  three  times  married — 
Have  I  cared  a  jot  for  aught  but  her. 


First  Love  117 

No,  mine  own !  though  early  forced  to  leave  you, 
Still  my  heart  was  there  where  first  we  met; 
In  those  "  Lodgings  with  an  ample  sea-view," 
Which  were,  forty  years  ago,  "  To  Let." 

There  I  saw  her  first,  our  landlord's  oldest 

Little  daughter.     On  a  thing  so  fair 
Thou,  O  Sun, — who  (so  they  say)  beholdest 

Everything, — hast  gazed,  I  tell  thee,  ne'er. 

There  she  sat — so  near  me,  yet  remoter 

Than  a  star — a  blue-eyed,  bashful  imp: 
On  her  lap  she  held  a  happy  bloater, 

'Twixt  her  lips  a  yet  more  happy  shrimp. 

And  I  loved  her,  and  our  troth  we  plighted 

On  the  morrow  by  the  shingly  shore : 
In  a  fortnight  to  be  disunited 

By  a  bitter  fate  forevermore. 

O  my  own,  my  beautiful,  my  blue-eyed ! 

To  be  young  once  more,  and  bite  my  thumb 
At  the  world  and  all  its  cares  with  you,  I'd 

Give  no  inconsiderable  sum. 

Hand  in  hand  we  tramp'd  the  golden  seaweed, 
Soon  as  o'er  the  gray  cliff  peep'd  the  dawn: 

Side  by  side,  when  came  the  hour  for  tea,  we'd 
Crunch  the  mottled  shrimp  and  hairy  prawn  :— 

Has  she  wedded  some  gigantic  shrimper. 

That  sweet  mite  with  whom  I  loved  to  play? 

Is  she  girt  with  babes  that  whine  and  whimper, 
That  bright  being  who  was  always  gay? 

Yes — she  has  at  least  a  dozen  wee  things! 

Yes — I  see  her  darning  corduroys. 
Scouring  floors,  and  setting  out  the  tea-things, 

For  a  howling  herd  of  hungry  boys. 


118  The  Eternal  Feminine 

In  a  home  that  reeks  of  tar  and  sperm-oil! 

But  at  intervals  she  thinks,  I  know, 
Of  those  days  which  we,  afar  from  turmoil, 

Spent  together  forty  years  ago. 

O  my  earliest  love,  still  unforgotten, 
With  your  downcast  eyes  of  dreamy  blue! 

Never,  somehow,  could  1  seem  to  cotton 
To  another  as  I  did  to  you ! 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


WHAT  IS  A  WOMAN  LIKE? 

A  WOMAN  is  like  to — but  stay — 

What  a  woman  is  like,  who  can  say? 

There  is  no  living  with  or  without  one. 

Love  bites  like  a  fly, 

Now  an  ear,  now  an  eye, 
Buzz,  buzz,  always  buzzing  about  one. 

When   she's  tender  and  kind 

She  is  like  to  my  mind, 
(And   Fanny   was   so,"  I   remember). 

She's  like  to— Oh,  dear! 

She's  as  good,  very  near, 
As  a  ripe,  melting  peach  in   September. 

If  she  laugh,  and  she  chat, 

Play,  joke,   and   all   that, 
And  with  smiles  and  good  humor  she  meet  me, 

She's  like  a  rich  dish 

Of  venison  or  fish. 
That  cries  from  the  table,  Come  eat  me! 

But  she'll  plague  you  and  vex  you, 

Distract   and   perplex   you; 

False-hearted   and   ranging, 

Unsettled   and  changing. 

What  then  do  you  think,  she  is  like? 
Like   sand?     Like   a    rock? 
Like  a  wheel?     Like  a  clock? 

Ay,  a  clock  that  is  always  at  strike. 


Mis'  Smith  119 

Her  head's  like  the  island   folks  tell  on, 
Which  nothing  but  monkeys  can  dwell  on; 
Her  heart's  like  a  lemon — so  nice 
She  carves  for  each  lover  a  slice; 

In  truth  she's  to  me, 

Like  the  wind,  like  the  sea, 
Whose  raging  will  hearken  to  no  man; 

Like  a  mill,  like  a  pill. 

Like  a  flail,  like  a  whale. 

Like  an  ass,  like  a  glass 
Whose   image   is    constant   to   no   man; 

Like  a  shower,  like  a  flower, 

Like  a  fly,  like  a  pie. 

Like  a  pea,  like  a  flea, 

Like  a   thief,   like — in  brief. 
She's  like  nothing  on  earth — but  a  woman! 

Unknown. 


MIS'  SMITH 

All  day  she  hurried  to  get  through. 
The  same  as  lots  of  wimmin  do; 
Sometimes  at  night  her  husban'  said, 
"  Ma,  ain't  you  goin'  to  come  to  bed  ? " 
And  then  she'd  kinder  give  a  hitch, 
And  pause  half  way  between  a  stitch. 
And  sorter  sigh,   and  say  that  she 
Was  ready  as  she'd  ever  be, 
She  reckoned. 

And  so  the  years  went  one  by  one. 
An'  somehow  she  was  never  done; 
An'  when  the  angel  said,  as  how 
"  Mis'  Smith,  it's  time  you  rested  now,'^ 
She  sorter  raised  her   eyes  to  look 
A  second,  as  a^ stitch  she  took; 
"  All  right,  I'm  comin'  now,"  says  she, 
"  I'm  ready  as  I'll  ever  be, 
I  reckon," 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine. 


120  The  Eternal  Feminine 


TKIOLET 


"  I  LOVE  you,  my  lord !  " 
Was  all  that  she  said — 
What  a  dissonant  chord, 
"  I  love  you,  my  lord !  " 
Ah!  how  I  abhorred 
That  sarcastic  maid! — 
"/  love  you?     My  Lord!" 
Was  all  that  she  said. 


Paul  T.  Gilbert. 


BESSIE  BROWN,  M.D. 

'TwAS  April  v,^hen  she  came  to  town; 

The  birds  had  come;  the  bees  were  swarming. 
Her  name,   she  said,   was   Doctor   Brown; 

I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  charming. 
She  took  a  cottage  tinted  green, 

Where  dewy  roses  loved  to  mingle; 
And  on  the  door,  next  day,  was  seen 
A   dainty   little   shingle. 

Her  hair  was  like  an  amber  wreath; 

Her  hat  was  darker,  to  enhance  it. 
The  violet  eyes  that  glowed  beneath 

Were  brighter  than  her  keenest  lancet, 
The  beauties  of  her  glove  and  gown 

The  sweetest  rhyme  would  fail  to  utter. 
Ere  she  had  been  a  day  in  town 
The  town  was  in  a  flutter. 

The  gallants  viewed  her  feet  and  hands. 
And  swore  they  never  saw  such  wee  things; 

The  gossips  met  in  purring  bands. 

And  tore  her  piecemeal  o'er  the  tea-things. 

The  former  drank  the  Doctor's  health 
With  clinking  cups,  the  gay  carousers ; 

The  latter  watched  her  door  by  stealth. 
Just  like  so  many  mousers. 


A  Sketch  from  the  Life  121 

But  Doctor  Bessie  went  her  way, 

Unmindful  of  the  spiteful  cronies, 
And  drove  her  buggy  every  day 

Behind  a  dashing  pair  of  ponies. 
Her  flower-like  face  so  bright  she  bore 

I  hoped  that  time  might  never  wilt  her. 
The  way  she  tripped  across  the  floor 
Was  better  than  a  philter. 

Her  patients  thronged  the  village  street; 

Her  snowy  slate  was  always  quite  full. 
Some  said  her  bitters  tasted  sweet. 

And  some  pronounced  her  pills  delightful. 
'Twas  strange — I  knew  not  what  it  meant — 

She  seemed  a  nymph  from  Eldorado; 
Where'er  she  came,  where'er  she  went. 
Grief  lost  its  gloomy  shadow. 

Like  all  the  rest  I,  too,  grew  ill; 

My  aching  heart  there  was  no  quelling. 
I  tremble  at  my  doctor's  bill — 

And  lo!  the  items  still  are  swelling. 
The  drugs  I've   drunk  you'd  weep  to  hear! 

They've    quite   enriched    the   fair   concocter, 
And  I'm  a  ruined  man,  I  fear. 

Unless— I   wed   the   Doctor! 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck. 


A  SKETCH  EKOM  THE-  LIEE 

Its  eyes  are  gray; 

Its  hair  is  either  brown 
Or  black; 
And,  strange  to  say, 

Its   dresses  button   down 
The  back! 

It  wears  a  plume 

That  loves  to  frisk  around 
My  ear. 


122  The  Eternal  Feminine 

It  crowds  the  room 

With  cushions  in   a  mound 
And  queer 

Old  rugs  and  lamps 

In  corners  a  la  Turque 
And   things. 
It  steals  my  stamps, 

And  when  I  want  to  work 
It  sings! 

It  rides  and  skates — 

But  then  it  comes  and  fills 
My  walls 
With   plaques   and  plates 

And   keeps   me   paying   bills 
And   calls. 

It's  firm;   and  if 

I  should  my  many  woes 
Deplore, 
'Twould  only  sniff 

And  perk  its  little  nose 
Some   more. 

It's  bright,  though  small; 

Its  name,   you   may  have  guessed, 
Is  "Wife." 
But,  after  all, 

It  gives   a   wondrous  zest 
To    life! 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


MINGUILLO'S   KISS 

Since  for  kissing  thee,  Minguillo, 

Mother's  ever  scolding  me. 
Give  me  swiftly  back,  thou  dear  one, 

Give  the  kiss  I  gave  to  thee. 
Give  me  back  the  kiss — that  one,  now; 


A  Kiss  in  the  Rain  123 

Let  my  mother  scold  no  more; 

Let  us  tell  her  all  is  o'er : 
What  was  done  is  all  undone  now. 
Yes,  it  will  be  wise,  Minguillo, 

My  fond   kiss   to  give   to   me; 
Give  me  swiftly  back,  thou  dear  one, 

Give  the  kiss  I  gave  to  thee. 
Give  me  back   the  kiss,  for  mother 

Is  impatient — prithee,  do! 

For  that  one  thou  shalt  have  two: 
Give  me  that,  and  take  another. 
Yes,  then  will  they  be  contented, 

Then   can't  they  complain  of  me; 
Give   me  swiftly  back,   thou   dear   one, 

Give  the  kiss  I  gave  to  thee. 

Unknown, 


A  KISS  IN  THE  RAIN 

One  stormy  morn  I  chanced  to  meet 

A  lassie  in  the  town; 
Her  locks  were  like  the  ripened  wheat, 

Her  laughing  eyes  were  brown. 
I  watched  her  as  she  tripped  along 

Till   madness  filled  my  brain. 
And  then — and  then — I  know  'twas  wrong — 

I  kissed  her  in  the  rain! 

With   rain-drops  shining  on  her  cheek. 

Like  dew-drops  on  a  rose, 
The  little  lassie  strove  to  speak 

My  boldness  to  oppose; 
She  strove  in  vain,  and  quivering 

Her  fingers  stole  in  mine; 
And  then  the  birds  began  to  sing. 

The  sun  began  to  shine. 

Oh,  let  the  clouds  grow  dark  above, 

My  heart  is  light  below; 
'Tis  always  summer  when  we  love. 

However   winds   may  blow; 


12^  The  Eternal  Feminine 

And  I'm  as  proud  as  any  prince, 

All  honors  I  disdain: 
She  says  I  am  her  rain  heau  since 

I  kissed  her  in  the  rain. 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck. 


THE  LOVE-KNOT 

Tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin, 
She  tied  her  raven  ringlets  in; 
But,  not  alone  in  the  silken  snare 
Did  she  catch  her  lovely  floating  hair, 
For,  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 
She  tied  a  young  man's  heart  within. 

They  were  strolling  together  up  the  hill, 
Where  the  wind  comes  blowing  merry  and  chill; 
And  it  blew  the  curls,  a  frolicsome  race, 
All  over  the  happy  peach-coloured  face, 
Till,   scolding  and  laughing,   she  tied   them   in. 
Under  her  beautiful  dimpled  chin. 

And  it  blew  a  colour  bright  as  the  bloom 
Of  the  pinkest  fuchsia's  tossing  plume. 
All  over  the  cheeks  of  the  prettiest  girl 
That  ever  imprisoned  a  romping  curl, 
Or,  in  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin, 
Tied  a  young  man's  heart  within. 

Steeper  and  steeper  grew  the  hill — 
Madder,  merrier,  chillier  still — 
The  western  wind  blew  down  and  played 
The  wildest  tricks  with  the  little  maid. 
As,  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 
She  tied  a  young  man's  heart  within. 

Oh,  western  wind,  do  you  think  it  was  fair 
To  play  such  tricks  with  her  floating  hair?— 
To  gladly,  gleefully  do  your  best 
To  blow  her  against  the  young  man's-  breast. 


Over  the  Way  125 

Where  he  as  gladly  folded  her  in, 

And  kissed  her  mouth  and  dimpled  chin? 

Oh,  Ellery  Vane!  you  little  thought 
An  hour  ago,  when  you  besought 
This  country  lass  to  walk  with  you. 
After  the  sun  had  dried  the  dew, 
What  perilous  danger  you'd  be  in 
As  she  tied  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 

Nora  Perry. 


OVER  THE   WAY 

OvERi  the  way,  over  the  way, 
I've  seen  a  head  that's  fair  and  gray; 
I've  seen  kind  eyes  not  new  to  tears, 
A  form  of  grace,  though  full  of  years — 

Her  fifty  summers  have  left  no  flaw — 
And   I,   a  youth   of  twenty -three, 
So  love  this  lady^  fair  to  see, 

I  want  her  for  my  mother-in-law! 

Over  the  way,  over  the  way, 
I've  seen   her  with  the  children  play; 
I've  seen  her  with  a  royal  grace 
Before  the  mirror  adjust  her  lace; 

A  kinder  woman  none  ever  saw; 
God  bless  and  cheer  her  onward  path. 
And  bless  all  treasures  that  she  hath. 

And  let  her  be  my  mother-in-law! 

Over  the  way,  over  the  way, 

I  think  I'll  venture,  dear,  some  day 

(If  you  will  lend  a  helping  hand. 

And  sanctify  the  scheme  I've  planned) ; 

I'll  kneel  in  loving,  reverent  awe 
Down  at  the  lady's  feet,  and  say: 
I've  loved  your  daughter  many  a  day — 

Please  won't  you  be  my  mother-in-law?" 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge. 


126  The  Eternal  Feminine 

CHORUS  OF  WOMEN 


They're  always  abusing  the  women, 

As  a  terrible  plague  to  men; 
They  say  we're  the  root  of  all  evil. 

And  repeat  it  again  and  again — 
Of  war,  and  quarrels,  and  bloodshed, 

All  mischief,  be  what  it  may. 
And  pray,  then,  why  do  you  marry  us, 

If  we're  all  the  plagues  you  say? 
And  why  do  you  take  such  care  of  us. 

And  keep  us  so  safe  at  home. 
And  are  never  easy  a  moment 

If  ever  we  chance  to  roam? 
When  you  ought  to  be  thanking  Heaven 

That  your  plague  is  out  of  the  way. 
You  all  keep  fussing  and  fretting — 

"Where  is  my  Plague  to-day?" 
If  a  Plague  peeps  out  of  the  window. 

Up  go  the  eyes  of  men; 
If  she  hides,  then  they  all  keep  staring 

Until  she  looks  out  again. 

Aristophanes. 


THE  WIDOW  MALONE 

Did  you  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone 

O  hone! 
Who  lived  in  the  town  of  Athlone 

Alone? 
O,  she  melted  the  hearts 
Of  the  swains  in  them  parts  ^ 
So   lovely   the  Widow   Malone, 
O  hone! 
So  lovely  the  Widow  Malone. 


The  Widow  Malone  127 

Of  lovers  she  had  a  full  score 

Or  more; 
And  fortunes  they  all   had  galore     • 

In  store; 
From  the   minister  down 
To  the  clerk  of  the  Crown, 
AH  \  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone 

O  hone! 
All  were  courting  the  Widow  Malone. 

i 

Bui  so  modest  was  Mrs.   Malone, 

'Twas  known. 
That  no  one  could  see  her  alone, 

O  hone! 
Let  them  ogle  and  sigh. 
They   could  ne'er  catch  her  eye; 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone, 

O  hone! 
So  bashful  the  Widow  Malone. 


Till   one  Mister   O'Brien   from   Clare, 
How  quare! 

'Tis  little  for  blushing  they  care 

Down   there; 

Put  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

Gave  ten  kisses  at  laste, 

And  says  he,  "You're  my  Molly  Malone, 
My  own." 

Says  he,  "You're  my  Molly  Malone." 


And  the  widow  they  all  thought  so  shy— 

My  eye! 
Never  thought  of  a  simper  or  sigh; 
For  why? 
"  O  Lucius,"  said  she, 
"  Since  you've  now  made  so  free, 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone, 

Your  own; 
You  may  marry  your  Mary  Malone." 


128  The  Eternal  Feminine 

There's  a  moral  contained  in  my  song, 
Not   wrong ; 

And  one  comfort  it's  not  very  long, 
But  strong: — 

If  for  widows  you  die, 

Learn  to  kiss — not  to  sigh, 

For  they're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone! 
O  hone! 

O  they're  all  like  sweet  Mistress  Malone! 

Charles  Lever. 


THE  SMACK  IN  SCHOOL 

A  DISTRICT  school,  not  far  away. 

Mid  Berkshire's  hills,  one  winter's  day. 

Was  humming  with  its  wonted  noise 

Of  threescore  mingled  girls  and  boys; 

Some  few  upon  their  tasks  intent, 

But  more  on  furtive  mischief  bent. 

The  while  the  master's  downward  look 

Was  fastened  on  a  copy-book; 

When  suddenly,  behind  his  back. 

Rose  sharp   and   clear  a  rousing  smack! 

As  'twere  a  battery  of  bliss 

Let  off   in  one  tremendous  kiss! 

"  What's  that  ?  "  the  startled  master  cries ; 

"  That,  thir,"  a  little  imp  replies, 

"  Wath  William  Willith,  if  you  pleathe,— 

I  thaw  him  kith  Thuthanna  Peathe ! " 

With  frown  to  make  a  statue  thrill. 

The  master  thundered,  "Hither,  Will!" 

Like  wretch  o'ertaken  in  his  track, 

With  stolen  chattels  on  his  back, 

Will  hung  his  head  in  fear  and  shame. 

And  to  the  awful  presence  came, — 

A  great,   green,   bashful   simpleton, 

The  butt  of  all   good-natured  fun. 

With   smile  suppressed,   and  birch  upraised. 

The  thunderer  faltered, — "  I'm  amazed 

That  you,  my  biggest  pupil,   should 


'Spaciallj  Jim  129 

Be  guilty  of  an   act  so  rude! 

Before  the  whole  set  school  to  boot — 

What  evil  genius  put  you   to't?" 

"  'Twas  she  herself,  sir,"  sobbed  the  lad, 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  so  bad; 

But  when   Susannah  shook  her  curls, 

And  whispered,  I  was  'fraid  of  girls 

And  dursn't  kiss  a  baby's  doll, 

I  couldn't  stand  it,   sir,  at  all, 

But  up  and  kissed  her  on  the  spot! 

I  know — boo — hoo — I  ought  to  not. 

But,  somehow,  from  her  looks — boo — hoo — 

I  thought  she  kind  o'  wished  me  to ! " 

William  Pitt  Palmer, 


'SPACIALLY  JIM 

I  wus  mighty  good-lookin'  when  I  wus  young — 

Peert   an'   black-eyed   an'   slim. 
With  fellers   a-courtin'   me   Sunday  nights, 
'Spacially  Jim. 

The  likeliest  one  of  'em  all  wus  he, 

Chipper  an'  han'som'  an'  trim; 
But  I  toss'd  up  my  head,  an'  made  fun  o'  the  crowd, 
'Spacially  Jim. 

I  said  I  hadn't  no  'pinion   o'  men 

An'  I  wouldn't  take  stock  in  him! 
But  they  kep'  up  a-comin'  in  spite  o'  my  talk, 
'Spacially  Jim. 

I  got  so  tired  o'  havin'  'em  roun' 

('Spacially  Jim!), 
I  made  up  my  mind   I'd   settle  down 

An'  take  up  with  him; 

So  we  was  married  one  Sunday  in  church, 

'Twas  crowded  full  to  the  brim, 
'Twas  the  only  way  to  get  rid  of  'em  all, 
'Spacially  Jim. 

Bessie  Morgan. 


130  The  Eternal  Feminine 


KITTY  OF  COLERAINE 

As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  tripping, 
With  a  pitcher  of  milk  from  the  fair  of  Coleraine, 

When  she  saw  me  she  stumbled,  the  pitcher  it  tumbled. 
And  all  the  sweet  buttermilk  water'd  the  plain. 

O,  what  shall  I  do  now,  'twas  looking  at  you  now, 
Sure,  sure,  such  a  pitcher  I'll  ne'er  meet  again! 

'Twas  the  pride  of  my  dairy:  O  Barney  M'Cleary! 
You're  sent  as  a  plague  to  the  girls  of  Coleraine." 

I  sat  down  beside  her, — and  gently  did  chide  her, 
That  such  a  misfortune  should  give  her  such  pain; 

A  kiss  then  I  gave  her, — and  ere  I  did  leave  her. 
She  vow'd  for  such  pleasure  she'd  break  it  again. 

'Twas  hay-making  season,  I  can't  tell  the  reason. 
Misfortunes  will  never  come  single, — that's  plain, 

For,  very  soon  after  poor  Kitty's  disaster, 
The  devil  a  pitcher*  was  whole  in  Coleraine. 

Edward  Lysaght, 


WHY  DON'T  THE  MEN  PROPOSE? 

Why  don't  the  men  propose,  mamma? 

Why  don't  the  men  propose? 
Each  seems  just  coming  to  the  point, 

And  then  away  he  goes; 
It  is  no  fault  of  yours,  mamma, 

Thai  everybody  knows; 
You' fete  the  finest  men  in  town. 

Yet,  oh!  they  won't  propose. 

I'm  sure  I've  done  my  best,  mamma. 

To  make  a  proper  match; 
For  coronets  and  eldest  sons, 

I'm  ever  on  the  watch; 


Why  Don't  the  Men  Propose?  131 

I've  hopes  when   some  distingue  beau 

A  glance  upon  me  throws; 
But  though  he'll  dance  and  smile  and  flirt, 

Alas!  he  won't  propose. 

I've  tried  to  win  by  languishing, 

And  dressing  like  a  blue; 
I've  bought  big  books  and  talked  of  them 

As  if  I'd  read  them  through! 
With  hair  cropp'd  like  a  man  I've  felt 

The  heads  of  all  the  beaux; 
But  Spurzheim  could  not  touch  their  hearts. 

And   oh!   they  won't  propose. 

I  threw   aside  the  books,   and  thought 

That  ignorance  was  bliss; 
I  felt  convinced  that  men  preferred 

A   simple   sort   of   Miss; 
And   so   I   lisped   out  nought  beyond 

Plain  "  yesses  "  or  plain  "  noes," 
And   wore   a   sweet   unmeaning   smile; 

Yet,  oh!  they  won't  propose. 

Last  night   at  Lady  Ramble's  rout 

I   heard   Sir   Henry  Gale 
Exclaim,  "Now  I  propose  again " 

I  started,  turning  pale; 
I  really  thought  my  time  was  come, 

I  blushed  like  any  rose; 
But  oh!  I  found  'twas  only  at 

Ecarte  he'd  propose. 

And  what  is  to  be  done,  mamma? 

Oh,  what  is  to  be  done? 
I  really  have  no  time  to  lose. 

For  I   am  thirty-one; 
At  balls  I  am  too  often  left 

Where  spinsters  sit  in  rows; 
Why   don't  the   men   propose,   mamma? 

Why  won't  the  men   propose? 

Thomas  Haynes  Bayly. 


132  The  Eternal  Feminine 


A  PIN 

Oh,   I  know   a   certain   woman   who   is   reckoned   with  the 

.good, 
But    she    fills    me    with    more    terror    than    a    raging    lion 

would. 
The  little   chills   run   up   and   down   my   spine   when'er  we 

meet, 
Though   she  seems   a   gentle  creature  and   she's   very   trim 

and   neat. 

And  she  has  a  thousand  virtues  and  not  one  acknowledged 

sin. 
But  she  is  the  sort  of  person  you  could  liken  to  a  pin. 
And   she   pricks   you,   and    she   sticks   you,   in   a   way   that 

can't  be   said — 
When  you   seek  for  what  has  hurt  you,   why,  you   cannot 

find  the  head. 

But  she  fills  you  with  discomfort  and  exasperating  iT«in — 
If  anybody  asks  you  why,  you  really  can't  explain. 
A  pin  is  such  a  tiny  thing, — of  that  there  is  no  doubt, — 
Yet  when   it's   sticking  in   your  flesh,  you're  wretched  till 
it's  out! 

She  is  wonderfully  observing — when  she  meets  a  pretty  girl 
She  is  always  sure  to  tell  her  if  her  "  bang  "  is  out  of  curl. 
And  she  is  so  sympathetic :  to  a  friend,  who's  much  admired. 
She  is  often  heard  remarking,  "  Dear,  you  look  so  worn  and 
tired!" 

And  she  is  a  careful  critic;  for  on  yesterday  she  eyed 
The  new  dress  I  was  airing  with  a  woman's  natural  pride, 
And  she  said,  "  Oh,  how  becoming!  "  and  then  softly  added, 

"It 
Is  really  a  misfortune  that  the  basque  is  such  a  fit." 

Then  she  said,  "  If  you  had  heard  me  yestereve,  I'm  sure, 

my  friend. 
You  would  say  I  am  a  champion  who  knows  how  to  defend." 


The  Whistler  133 

And  she  left  me  with  the  feeling — most  unpleasant,  I  aver — 
That  the  whole  world  would  despise  me  if  it  had  not  been  for 
her. 

Whenever  I  encounter  her,  in  such  a  nameless  way- 
She  gives  me  the  impression  I  am  at  my  wors-t  that  day, 
And  the  hat  that  was  imported   (and  that  cost  me  half  a 

sonnet) 
With  just  one  glance  from  her  round  eyes  becomes  a  Bowery 

bonnet. 

She  is  always  bright   and   smiling,   sharp   and   shining  for 
I  a  thrust — 

■    Use  does  not  seem  to  blunt  her  point,  not  does  she  gather 
rust — 
Oh!  I  wish  some  hapless  specimen  of  mankind  would  be- 
gin 
To  tidy  up  the  world  for  me,  by  picking  up  this  pin. 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

THE  WHISTLER 

^    "You  have  heard,"  said  a  youth  to  his  sweetheart,  who 
stood 
While  he  sat  on  a  corn-sheaf,  at  daylight's  decline — 
"  You  have  heard  of  the  Danish  boy's  whistle  of  wood ; 
I  wish  that  the  Danish  boy's  whistle  were  mine ! " 

"And  what  would  you  do  with  it? — tell  me,"  she  said. 
While  an  arch  smile  play'd  over  her  beautiful  face. 

"  I  would  blow  it,"  he  answered,  "  and  then  my  fair  maid 
Would  fly  to  my  side,  and  would  there  take  her  place." 

"Is  that  all  you  wish  for?     Why,  that  may  be  yours 
Without  any  magic,"  the  fair  maiden  cried; 

"  A  favour  so  slight  one's  good-nature  secures ; " 
And  she  playfully  seated  herself  by  his  side. 

"I  would  blow  it  again,"  said  the  youth;  "and  the  charm 
Would  work  so,  that  not  even  modesty's  check 
Would  be  able  to  keep  from  my  neck  your  white  arm." 
She    smiled,    and    she   laid    her   white   arm   round   his 
neck. 


134»  The  Eternal  Feminine 

"Yet  once  more  I  would  blow,  and  the  music  divine 
Would  bring  me  a  third  time  an  exquisite  bliss 
You  would  lay  your  fair  cheek  to  this  brown  one  of  mine 
And  your  lips,  stealing  past  it,  would  give  me  a  kiss." 


The  maiden  laughed  out  in  her  innocent  glee — 
"What  a  fool  of  yourself  with  the  whistle  you'd  make! 

For  only  consider  how  silly  'twould  be 

To  sit  there  and  whistle  for  what  you  might  take." 

Unknown. 

THE  CLOUD 

AN   IDYLL  OF   THE   WESTERN   FRONT 


Scene:  A  wayside  shrine  in  France. 
Persons  :  Celeste,  Pierre,  a  Cloud. 

Celeste    {gazing   at   the   solitary   white    Cloud) : 
I  wonder  what  your  thoughts  are,  little  Cloud, 
Up  in  the  sky,  so  lonely  and  so  proud! 

Cloud:  Not  proud,  dear  maiden;  lonely,  if  you  will. 
Long  have  I  watched  you,  sitting  there  so  still 
Before  that  little  shrine  beside  the  way, 
And  wondered  where  your  thoughts  might  be  astray; 
Your  knitting  lying  idle  on  your  knees, 
And  worse  than   idle — like  Penelope's, 
Working   its  own  undoing! 

Celeste  {picks  up  her  Jcnitting)  :  Who  was  she? 
Saints!  What  a  knot! — Who  was  Penelope? 
What  happened  to  her  knitting?     Tell  me,   Cloud! 

Cloud:  She  was  a  Queen;  she  wove  her  husband's  shroud. 

Celeste   {drops  the  Jcnitting). 
His  shroud! 

Cloud:  There,   there!     'Twas    only   an    excuse 

To  put  her  lovers  off,  a  wifely  ruse. 
Bidding  them  bide  till  it  was  finished,  she 
Each  night  the  web  unravelled  secretly. 

Celeste:  He  came  home  safe? 


The  Cloud  135 

Cloud:  If  I  remember  right, 

•     It  was  the  lovers  needed  shrouds  that  night! 

It  is  an  old,  old  tale.     I  heard  it  through 

A  Wind  whose  ancestor  it  was  that  blew 

Ulysses'  ship  across  the  purple  sea 

Back  to  his  people  and  Penelope. 

We  Clouds  pick  up  strange  tales,  as  far  and  wide 

And  to  and,  fro  above  the  world  we  ride. 

Across  uncharted  seas,  upon  the  swell 

Of  viewless  waves  and  tides  invisible. 

Freighted  with  friendly  flood  or  forked  flame. 

Knowing  not  whither  bound  nor  whence  we  came; 

Now  drifting  lonely,  now  a  company 

Of  pond'rous   galleons — 
Celeste:  Oft-times  I  see 

A  Cloud,  as  by  some  playful  fancy  stirred. 

Take  likeness   of  a  monstrous  beast  or  bird 

Or  some  fantastic  fish,   as  though  'twere  clay 

Moulded  by  unseen  hands. 
Cloud:  Then  tell  me,  pray, 

What  I  resemble  now ! 
Celeste  :  I  scarcely  know. 

But  had  you  asked  a  little  while  ago, 

I  should  have  said  a  camel;  then  your  hump 

Dissolved,  and  you  became  a  gosling  plump, 

Downy  and  white  and  warm — 
Cloud:  What!    Warm,  up  here? 

Ten  thousand  feet  above  the  earth! 
Celeste:  Oh  dear! 

What  am  I  thinking  of!    Of  course  I  know 

How  cold  it  is.     Pierre  has  told  me  so 

A  thousand  times. 
Cloud:  And  who  is  this  Pierre 

That  tells  you  all  the  secrets  of  the  air? 

How  came  he  to  such  frigid  heights  to  soar? 
Celeste:  Pierre's  my — He  is  in  the  Flying  Corps. 
Cloud:  Ah,  now  T  understand!     And  he's  away? 
Celeste  :  He  left  at  dawn,  where  for  he  would  not  say,  . 

Telling  me  only  'twas  a  bombing  raid 

Somewhere — My  God!    What's  that? 
Cloud:  What,  little  maid? 


136  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Celeste  (pointing)  :  That — over  there — beyond  the  wooded 

crest ! 
Cloud:  Only  a  skylark  dropping  to  her  nest; 

Her  mate  is  hov'ring  somewhere  near.    I  heard 

His  tremulous  song  of  love — 
Celeste:  That  was  no  bird! 

(Drops  upon  her  knees.) 

O  Mary!     Blessed  Mother!     Hear  my  prayer! 

That  one  that  fell — grant  it  was  not  Pierre! 

Here  is  the  cross  my  mother  gave  me — I 

Will  burn  the  longest  candle  it  will  buy! 
Cloud    Courage,    my    child!      Your    prayer    will    not    be 
vain! 

Who  guards  the  lark,  will  guide  your  lover's  plane. 

The  West  Wind's  calling.     I  must  go! — Hark!     There 

He  sings  again!    Le  bon  Dieu  garde,  ma  chere! 


n 

Pierre:  I  made  a  perfect  landing  over  there 

Behind  the  church — 
Celeste:  The  Virgin  heard  my  prayer! 

Now  r  must  burn  the  candle  that  I  vowed — 
Pierre:  Then  'twas  our  Blessed   Lady  sent  that  Cloud 

That  saved  me  when  the  Boche  came  up  behind. 

I  made  a  lightning  turn,  only  to  find 

The  Boche  on  top  of  me.     It  seemed  a  kind 

Of  miracle  to  see  that  Cloud — I  swear 

A  moment  past  the  sky  was  everywhere 

As  clear  as  clear;  there  was  no  Cloud  in  sight. 

It  looked  to  me,  floating  there  calm  and  white. 

Like  a  great  mother  hen,  and  I  a  chick. 

She  seemed  to  call  me,  and  I  scurried  quick 

Behind  her  wing.    That  spoiled  the  Boche's  game, 

And  gave  me  time  to  turn  and  take  good  aim. 

I  emptied  my  last  drum,  and  saw  him  drop 

Ten  thousand  feet  in  flames — 
Celeste  (shuddering)  :  Stop !  Pierre,  stop ! 

Maybe  a  girl  is  waiting  for  him  too — 
Pierre  :  'Twas  either  him  or  me — 


Ain't  it  Awful,  Mabel?  137 

Celeste:  Thank  God,  not  you! 

Pierre    (pointing   to  the  church) :   Come,  let  us  burn  the 

candle  that  you  vowed. 
Celeste:  Two  candles! 

Pierre:  Who's  the  other  for? 

Celeste:  The  Cloud! 

Oliver  Herford. 


CONSTANCY 

"You  gave  me  the  key  of  your  heart,  my  love; 

Then  why  do  you  make  me  knock?" 
"Oh,  that  was  yesterday,  Saints  above! 

And  last  night — I  changed  the  lock !  " 

John  Boyle  O'Reilly. 


AIN'T  IT  AWFUL,  MABEL? 

It  worries  me  to  beat  the  band 
To  hear  folks  say  our  lives  is  grand; 
Wish  they'd  try  some  one-night  stand. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Nothin'  ever  seems  to  suit — 
The  manager's  an  awful  brute; 
Spend  our  lives  jest  lookin'  cute. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Met  a  boy  last  Tuesday  night, 
Was  spendin'  money  left  and  right — 
Me,  gee!  I  couldn't  eat  a  bite! 

Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Then  I  met  another  guy — 
Hungry!  well,  I  thought  I'd  die! 
But  I  couldn't  make  him  buy. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 


138  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Lots  of  men  has  called  me  dear, 
Said  without  me  life  was  drear, 
But  men  is  all  so  unsineere! 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

I  tell  you,  life  is  mighty  hard, 
I've  had  proposals  by  the  yard — 
Some  of  'em  would  'a  had  me  starred. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Eemember  that  sealskin  sacque  of  mine? 
When  I  got  it,  look'd  awful  fine — 
I  found  out  it  was  a  shine. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

Prima  donna's  sore  on  me; 
My  roses  had  her  up  a  tree — 
I  jest  told  her  to  "twenty-three." 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

My  dear,  she  went  right  out  and  wired 
The  New  York  office  to  have  me  "  fired  " ; 
But  say!  Hwas  the  author  had  me  hired. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

I  think  hotels  is  awful  mean, 
Jim  and  me  put  out  of  room  sixteen — 
An'  we  was  only  readin'  Laura  Jean. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

The  way  folks  talk  about  us  too; 
For  the  smallest  thing  we  do — 
'Nuff  to  make  a  girl  feel  blue. 
Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

My  Gawd!  is  that  the  overture? 

I  never,  will  be  '  on,  I'm  sure — 

The  things  us  actresses  endure. 

Ain't  it  awful,  Mabel? 

John  Edward  Hazzard. 


Phyllis  Lee  139 

WING  TEE  WEE 

Oh,  Wing  Tee  Wee 
Was  a  sweet  Chinee, 
And  she  lived  in  the  town  of  Tac. 
Her  eyes   were  blue. 
And  her  curling  queue 
Hung  dangling  down  her  back; 
And  she  fell   in  love  with  gay  Win  Sil 
When  he  wrote  his  name  on  a  laundry  bill. 

And,  oh,  Tim  Told 
Was  a  pirate  bold, 
And  he  sailed  in  a  Chinese  junk; 
And  he  loved,  ah  me! 
Sweet  Wing  Tee  Wee, 
But  his  valiant  heart  had  sunk; 
So  he  drowned  his  blues  in  fickle  fizz. 
And  vowed  the  maid  would  yet  be  his. 

So  bold  Tim  Told 
Showed  all  his  gold 
To  the  maid  in  the  town  of  Tac; 
And  sweet  Wing  Wee 
Eloped  to  sea, 
And  nevermore  came  back; 
For  in  far  Chinee  the  maids  are  fair, 
And  the  maids  are  false, — as  everywhere. 

/.  P.  Denison, 


PHYLLIS  LEE 

Beside  a  Primrose  'broider'd  Rill 
Sat  Phyllis  Lee  in   Silken  Dress 

Whilst  Lucius  limn'd  with  loving  skill 
Her  likeness,  as  a  Shepherdess. 

Yet  tho'  he  strove  with   loving  skill 

His  Brush  refused  to  work  his  Will. 


14S0  The  Eternal  Feminine 

"Dear  Maid,  unless  you  close  your  Eyes 

I  cannot  paint  to-day,"  he  said; 
"  Their  Brightness  shames  the  very  Skies 
And  turns  their  Turquoise  into  Lead." 
Quoth  Phyllis,  then,  "To  save  the  Skies 
And  speed  your  Brush,  I'll  shut  my  Eyes." 

Now  when  her  Eyes  were  closed,  the  Dear^ 

Not  dreaming  of  such  Treachery, 
Felt  a  Soft  Whisper  in  her  Ear, 
"Without  the  Light,  how  can  one  See?" 
"  If  you  are  sure  that  none  can  see 
I'll  keep  them  shut,"  said  Phyllis.  Lee. 

Oliver  Herford. 


THE  SOEROWS  OF  WERTHER 

Wertheb  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 
Such  as  words  could  never  utter; 

Would  you  know  how  first  he  met  her? 
She  was  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

Charlotte  was  a  married  lady, 

And  a  moral  man  was  Werther, 
And  for  all  the  wealth  of  Indies, 

Would  do  nothing  for  to  hurt  her. 

So  he  sigh'd  and  pined  and  ogled, 
And  his  passion  boil'd  and  bubbled, 

Till  he  blew  his  silly  brains  out, 
And  no  more  was  by  it  troubled. 

Charlotte,  having  seen  his  body 

Borne  before  her  on  a  shutter. 
Like  a   well-conducted  person, 

Went  on  cutting  bread  and  butter. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


Rory  O'More;  or  Good  Omens  141 


THE  UNATTAINABLE 

Tom's  album  was  filled  with  the  pictures  of  belles 

Who  had  captured  his  manly  heart, 
From  the  fairy  who  danced  for  the  front-row  swells 

To  the  maiden  who  tooled  her  cart; 
But  one  face  as  fair  as  a  cloudless  dawn 

Caught  my  eye,  and  I  said,  **  Who's  this  ? " 
"  Oh,  that,"  he  replied,  with  a  skilful  yawn, 

"Is  the  girl  I  couldn't  kiss." 

Her  face  was  the  best  in  the  book,  no  doubt. 

But  I  hastily  turned  the  leaf, 
For  my  friend  had  let  his  cigar  go  out, 

And  I  kn«w  I  had  bared  his  grief: 
For  caresses  we  win  and  smiles  we  gain 

Yield  only  a  transient  bliss. 
And  we're  all  of  us  prone  to  sigh  in  vain 

For  "  the  girl  we  couldn't  kiss." 

Harry  Romaine. 

RORY  O'MORE;  OR,  GOOD  OMENS 

Young  Rory  O'More,  courted  Kathleen  Bawn, 
He  was  bold  as  a  hawk, — she  as  soft  as  the  dawn; 
He  wish'd  in  his  heart  pretty  Kathleen  to  please. 
And  he  thought  the  best  way  to  do  that' was  to  tease. 

"  Now,  Rory,  be  aisy,"  sweet  Kathleen  would  cry, 
(Reproof  on  her  lip,  but  a  smile  in  her  eye), 
**  With  your  tricks  I  don't  know,  in  troth,  what  I'm  about, 
Faith  you've  teased  till  I've  put  on  my  cloak  inside  out." 
"  Oh,  jewel,"  says  Rory,  "  that  same  is  the  way 
You've  thrated  my  heart  for  this  many  a  day; 
And  'tis  plaz'd  that  I  am,  and  why  not  to  be  sure? 
For  'tis  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory  O'More. 

"  Indeed,  then,"  says  Kathleen,  "  don't  think  of  the  like. 
For  I  half  gave  a  promise  to  soothering  Mike; 
The  ground  that  I  walk  on  he  loves,  I'll  be  bound." 
"  Faith,"  says  Rory,  "  I'd  rather  love  you  than  the  ground." 


142  The  Eternal  Feminine 

"  Now,  Kory,  I'll  cry  if  you  don't  let  me  go ; 

Sure  I  drame  ev'ry  night  that  I'm  hating  you  so ! " 

"  Oh,"  says  Rory,  "  that  same  I'm  delighted  to  hear, 

For  drames  always  go  by  conthraries,  my  dear; 

Oh!  jewel,  keep  draming  that  same  till  you  die. 

And  bright  morning  will  give  dirty  night  the  black  lie! 

And  'tis  plaz'd  that  I  am,  and  why  not,  to  be  sure? 

Since  'tis  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory  O'More. 

"  Arrah,  Kathleen,  my  dar'lint,  you've  teas'd  me  enough. 
Sure  I've  thrash'd  for  your  sake  Dinny  Grimes  and  Jim 

Duff; 
And  I've  made  myself,  drinking  your  health,  quite  a  baste, 
So  I  think,  after  that,  I  may  talk  to  the  praste." 
Then  Rory,  the  rogue,  stole  his  arm  around  her  neck. 
So  soft  and  so  white,  without  freckle  or  speck. 
And  he  look'd  in  her  eyes  that  were  beaming  with  light, 
And  he  kiss'd  her  sweet  lips; — don't  you  think  he  was 

right? 
"Now,  Rory,  leave  off,  sir;  you'll  hug  me  no  more, 
That's  eight  times  to-day  you  have  kiss'd  me  before." 
"  Then  here  goes  another/'  says  he,  "  to  make  sure, 
For  there's  luck  in  odd  numbers,"  says  Rory  O'More. 

Samuel  Lover. 


A  DIALOGUE  FROM  PLATO 

'  Le  temps  le  mieux  employe  est  celui  qu'  on  perd." 

— Claude  Tillier. 

I'd  read  three  hours.     Both  notes  and  text 

Were  fast   a  mist  becoming; 
In  bounced  a   vagrant  bee,   perplexed,. 

And   filled   the   room  with  humming. 


Then  out.     The  casement's  leafage  sways, 

And,   parted   light,   discloses 
Miss  Di.,  with  hat  and  book, — a  maze 

Of  muslin   mixed  with  roses. 


A  Dialogue  from  Plato  143 

"You're  reading  Greek?"     "I  am— and  you?" 

"  O,  mine's  a  mere  romancer ! " 
"So  Plato  is."     "Then  read  him— do; 

And  I'll  read  mine  in  answer." 


I  read:     "My  Plato   (Plato,  too,— 
That  wisdom  thus  should  harden!) 

Declares  'blue  eyes  look  doubly  blue 
Beneath  a  Dolly  Varden.' " 

She  smiled.     "My  book  in  turn  avers 

(No  author's  name  is  stated) 
That   sometimes   those  Philosophers 

Are  sadly  mis-translated." 

"  But  hear, — the  next's  in  stronger  style : 
The  Cynic  School  asserted 
That  two   red  lips  which  part   and  smile 
May  not  be  controverted ! " 

She    smiled    once    more — "My   book,    I   find. 

Observes   some   modern   doctors 
Would  make  the  Cynics  out  a  kind 

Of   album-verse  concoctors." 

Then  I— "Why  not?    'Ephesian  law. 

No  less   than  time's  tradition, 
Enjoined   fair   speech   on    all   who    saw 

Diana's   apparition.' " 

She  blushed — this  time.     "  If  Plato's  page 

No  wiser  precept  teaches. 
Then  I'd  renounce  that  doubtful  sage, 

And  walk  to  Burnham-beeches." 

"Agreed,"  I   said.     "For  Socrates 
(I  find  he   too   is   talking) 
Thinks  Learning  can't  remain  at  ease 
While  Beauty  goes   a-walking." 


144  The  Eternal  Feminine 

She  read  no  more.     I  leapt  the  sill: 

The    sequel's    scarce    essential — 
Nay,  more  than  this,  I  hold  it  still 

Profoundly  confidential. 

Austin  Dobson. 


DOEA  VERSUS  ROSE 

"The  case  is  proceeding." 

From  the  tragic-est  novels  at  Mudie's — 

At  least,  on  a  practical  plan — 
To  the  tales  of  mere  Hodges  and  Judys, 

One  love  is  enough  for  a  man. 
But  no  case  that  I  ever  yet  met  is 

Like  mine :  I  am  equally  fond 
Of  Rose,  who  a  charming  brunette  is, 

And  Dora,  a  blonde. 

Each  rivals  the  other  in  powers — 

Each  waltzes,  each  warbles,  each  paints — 

Miss  Rose,  chiefly  tumble-down  towers; 
Miss  Do.,  perpendicular  saints. 

In  short,  to  distinguish  is  folly; 

'Twixt  the  pair  I  am  come  to  the  pass 

Of  Macheath,  between  Lucy  and  Polly, — 
Or  Buridan's  ass. 

If  it  happens  that  Rosa  I've  singled 
For  a  soft  celebration  in  rhyme, 

Then  the  ringlets  of  Dora  get  mingled 
Somehow  with  the  tune  and  the  time; 

Or  I  painfully  pen  me  a  sonnet 
To  an  eyebrow  intended  for  Do.'s, 

And  behold  I  am  writing  upon  it 

The  legend,  "  To  Rose.' 

Or  I  try  to  draw  Dora  (my  blotter 
Is  all  overscrawled  with  her  head), 

If  I  fancy  at  last  that  I've  got  her, 
It  turns  to  her  rival  instead; 


Dora  Versus  Rose  145 

Or  I  find  myself  placidly*  adding 
To  the  rapturous  tresses  of  Eose 
Miss  Dora's  bud-mouth,  and  her  madding 
Ineffable  nose. 


Was  there  ever  so  sad  a  dilemma? 

For  Rose  I  would  perish  (pro  tem.) ; 
For  Dora  I'd  willingly  stem  a — 

(Whatever  might  offer  to  stem)  ; 
But  to  make  the  invidious  election, — 

To  declare  that  on  either  one's  side 
I've  a  scruple, — a  grain,  more  affection, 
I  cannot  decide. 


And,  as  either  so  hopelessly  nice  is, 
My  sole  and  my  final  resource 

Is  to  wait  some  indefinite  crisis, — 
Some  feat  of  molecular  force. 

To  solve  me  this  riddle  conducive 
By  no  means  to  peace  or  repose. 

Since  the  issue  can  scarce  be  inclusive 

Of  Dora  and  Rose. 


(Afterthought) 

But,  perhaps,  if  a  third  (say  a  Nora), 

Not  quite  so  delightful  as  Rose, — 
Not  wholly  so  charming  as  Dora, — 

Should  appear,  is  it  wrong  to  suppose, — 
As  the  claims  of  the  others  are  equal, — 

And  flight — in  the  main — is  the  best, — 
That  I  might  .    .   .  But  no  matter,— the  sequel 
Is  easily  guessed. 

Austin  Dobson. 


146  The  Eternal  reminlne 

TU  QUOQUE 

AN  IDYLL  IN  THE  CONSERVATORY 
NELLIE 

If  I  were  you,  when  ladies  at  the  play,  Sir, 

Beckon  and  nod,  a  melodrama  through, 
I  would  not  turn  abstractedly  away.  Sir, 

If  I  were  you! 

FRANK 

If  I  were  you,  when  persons  I  affected, 

Wait  for  three  hours  to  take  me  down  to  Kew, 

I  would  at  least  pretend  I  recollected. 
If  I  were  you! 

NELLIE 

If  I  were  you,  when  ladies  are  so  lavish, 

Sir,  as  to  keep  me  every  waltz  but  two, 
I  would  not  dance  with  odious  Miss  M'Tavish, 

If  I  were  you! 

FRANK 

If  I  were  you,  who  vow  you  cannot  suffer 
Whiff  of  the  best, — the  mildest  "  honey  dew," 

I  would  not  dance  with  smoke-consuming  Puffer, 
If  I  were  you! 

NELLIE 

If  I  were  you,  I  would  not.  Sir,  be  bitter, 
Even  to  write  the  "  Cynical  Keview  " ; — 

FRANK 

No,  I  should  doubtless  find  flirtation  fitter. 
If  I  were  you! 

NELLIE 

Really!    You  would?    Why,  Erank,  you're  quite  delightful. 

Hot  as  Othello,  and  as  black  of  hue; 
Borrow  my  fan.    I  would  not  look  so  frightful, 

If  I  were  you  I 


Tu  Quoque  147 

FRANK 

"  It  is  the  cause."    I  mean  your  chaperon  is 
Bringing  some  well-curled  juvenile.    Adieu! 

I  shall  retire.    I'd  spare  that  poor  Adonis, - 
If  I  'were  you ! 

NELLIE 

Go,  if  you  will.    At  once!    And  by  express,  Sir! 

Where  shall  it  be  ?    To  China— or  Peru  ? 
Go.    I  should  leave  inquirers  my  address,  Sir, 

If  I  were  you! 

FRANK 

No — I  remain.    To  stay  and  fight  a  duel 

Seems,  on  the  whole,  the  proper  thing  to  do — 

Ah,  you  are  strong, — I  would  not  then  be  cruel, 
If  I  were  you! 

NELLIE 

One  does  not  like  one's  feelings  to  be  doubted, — 


FRANK 

One  does  not  like  one's  friends  to  misconstrue, — 


NELLIE 

If  I  confess  that  I  a  wee-bit  pouted? 


FRANK 

I  should  admit  that  I  was  pique,  too. 


A 


NELLIE 

Ask  me  to  dance.    I'd  say  no  more  about  it, 
If  I  were  you ! 

\W2Mz—Exeunt'\ 

Austin  Dohson. 


148  The  Eternal  Feminine 


NOTHING  TO  WEAR 

Miss  Flora  McFlimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 
Has  made  three  separate  journeys  to  Paris; 
And  her  father  assures  me,  each  time  she  was  there, 
That  she  and  her  friend  Mrs.  Harris 
(Not  the  lady  whose  name  is  so  famous  in  history, 
But  plain  Mrs.  H.,  without  romance  or  mystery) 
Spent  six  consecutive  weeks  without  stopping, 
In  one  continuous  round  of  shopping; — 
Shopping  alone,  and  shopping  together. 
At  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  in  all  sorts  of  weather: 
For  all  manner  of  things  that  a  woman  can  put 
On  the  crown  of  her  head  or  the  sole  of  her  foot, 
Or  wrap  round  her  shoulders,  or  fit  round  her  waist, 
Or  that  can  be  sewed  on,  or  pinned  on,  or  laced. 
Or  tied  on  with  a  string,  or  stitched  on  with  a  bow, 
In  front  or  behind,  above  or  below; 
For  bonnets,  mantillas,  capes,  collars,  and  shawls; 
Dresses  for  breakfasts,  and  dinners,  and  balls; 
Dresses  to  sit  in,  and  stand  in,  and  walk  in. 
Dresses  to  dance  in,  and  flirt  in,  and  talk  in; 
Dresses  in  which  to  do  nothing  at  all; 
Dresses  for  winter,  spring,  summer,  and  fall, — 
All  of  them  different  in  color  and  pattern, 
Silk,  muslin,  and  lace,  crape,  velvet,  and  satin, 
Brocade,  and  broadcloth,  and  other  material 
Quite  as  expensive  and  much  more  ethereal: 
In  short,  for  all  things  that  could  ever  be  thought  of. 
Or  milliner,  modiste,  or  tradesman  be  bought  of, 
From  ten-thousand-francs  robes  to  twenty-sous  frills; 
In  all  quarters  of  Paris,  and  to  every  store: 
While  McFlimsey  in  vain  stormed,  scolded,  and  swore. 
They  footed  the  streets,  and  he  footed  the  bills. 

The  last  trip,  their  goods  shipped  by  the  steamer  Argo 
Formed,  McFlimsey  declares,  the  bulk  of  her  cargo, 
Not  to  mention  a  quantity  kept  from  the  rest, 
Sufficient  to  fill  the  largest-sized  chest. 
Which  did  not  appear  on  the  ship's  manifest. 


Nothing  to  Wear  149 

But  for  which  the  ladies  themselves  manifested 
Such  particular  interest  that  they  invested 
Their  own  proper  persons  in  layers  and  rows 
Of  muslins,  embroideries,  worked  underclothes, 
Gloves,  handkerchiefs,  scarfs,  and  such  trifles  as  those; 
Then,  wrapped  in  great  shawls,  like  Circassian  beauties. 
Gave  good-by  to  the  ship,  and  go-hy  to  the  duties. 
Her  relations  at  home  all  marvelled,  no  doubt, 
Miss  Flora  had  grown  so  enormously  stout 

For  an  actual  belle  and  a  possible  bride; 
]5ut  the  miracle  ceased  when  she  turned  inside  out, 

And  the  truth  came  to  light,  and  the  dry-goods  beside. 
Which,  in  spite  of  collector  and  custom-house  sentry, 
Had  entered  the  port  without  any  entry. 
And  yet,  though  scarce  three  months  have  passed  since  the 

day 
The  merchandise  went,  on  twelve  carts,  up  Broadway, 
This  same  Miss  McFlimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 
The  last  time  we  met,  was  in  utter  despair. 
Because  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  wear! 

Nothing  to  wear!    Now,  as  this  is  a  true  ditty, 

I  do  not  assert — this  you  know  is  between  us — 
That  she's  in  a  state  of  absolute  nudity. 

Like  Powers's  Greek  Slave,  or  the  Medici  Venus; 
But  I  do  mean  to  say  I  have  heard  her  declare. 
When  at  the  same  moment  she  had  on  a  dress 
Which  cost  five  hundred  dollars,  and  not  a  cent  less. 
And  jewelry  worth  ten  times  more,  I  should  guess, 
That  she  had  not  a  thing  in  the  wide  world  to  wear! 
I  should  mention  just  here,  that  out  of  Miss  Flora's 
Two  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty  adorers, 
I  had  just  been  selected  as  he  who  should  throw  all 
The  rest  in  the  shade,  by  the  gracious  bestowal 
On  myself,  after  twenty  or  thirty  rejections 
Of  those  fossil  remains  which  she  called  her  "  affections,'^ 
And  that  rather  decayed  but  well-known  work  of  art, 
Which  Miss  Flora  persisted  in  styling  "her  heart." 
So  we  were  engaged.    Our  troth  had  been  plighted 

Not  by  moonbeam  or  starbeam,  by  fountain  or  grove; 
But  in  a  front  parlor,  most  brilliantly  lighted. 


150  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Beneath  the  gas-fixtures  wc  whispered  our  love — 
Without  any  romance,  or  raptures,  or  sighs, 
Without  any  tears  in  Miss  Flora's  blue  eyes. 
Or  blushes,  or  transports,  or  such  silly  actions; 
It  was  one  of  the  quietest  business  transactions. 
With  a  very  small  sprinkling  of  sentiment,  if  any, 
And  a  very  large  diamond  imported  by  Tiffany. 
On  her  virginal  lips  while  I  printed  a  kiss, 
She  exclaimed,  as  a  sort  of  parenthesis, 
And  by  way  of  putting  me  quite  at  my  ease, 
"  You  know,  I'm  to  polka  as  much  as  I  please, 
And  flirt  when  I  like, — now  stop, — don't  you  speak, — 
And  you  must  not  come  here  more  than  twice  in  the  week. 
Or  talk  to  me  either  at  party  or  ball; 
But  always  be  ready  to  come  when  I  call: 
So  don't  prose  to  me  about  duty  and  stuff, — 
If  we  don't  break  this  off,  there  will  be  time  enough 
For  that  sort  of  thing;  but  the  bargain  must  be, 
That  as  long  as  I  choose  I  am  perfectly  free : 
For  this  is  a  sort  of  engagement,  you  see. 
Which  is  binding  on  you,  but  not  binding  on  me." 

Well,  having  thus  wooed  Miss  McFlimsey,  and  gained  her. 

With  the  silks,  crinolines,  and  hoops  that  contained  her, 

I  had,  as  I  thought,  a  contingent  remainder 

At  least  in  the  property,  and  the  best  right 

To  appear  as  its  escort  by  day  and  by  night; 

And  it  being  the  week  of  the  Stuckups'  grand  ball, — 

Their  cards  had  been  out  for  a  fortnight  or  so, 

And  set  all  the  Avenue  on  the  tiptoe, — 
I  considered  it  only  my  duty  to  call 

And  see  if  Miss  Flora  intended  to  go. 
I  found  her — as  ladies  are  apt  to  be  found 
When  the  time  intervening  between  the  first  sound 
Of  the  bell  and  the  visitor's  entry  is  shorter 
Than  usual — I  found — I  won't  say  I  caught — her 
Intent  on  the  pier-glass,  undoubtedly  meaning 
To  see  if  perhaps  it  didn't  need  cleaning. 
She  turned  as  I  entered — "  Why,  Harry,  you  sinner, 
I  thought  that  you  went  to  the  Flashers'  to  dinner !  " 
"  So  I  did,"  I  replied ;  "  but  the  dinner  is  swallowed. 


Nothing  to  Wear  16V 

And  digested,  I  trust;  for  'tis  now  nine  or  more: 
So  being  relieved  from  that  duty,  I  followed 

Inclination,  which  led  me,  you  see,  to  your  door. 
And  now  will  your  Ladyship  so  condescend 
As  just  to  inform  me  if  you  intend 
Your  beauty  and  graces  and  presence  to  lend 
(All  of  which,  when  I  own,  I  hope  no  one  will  borrow) 
To  the  Stuckups,  whose  party,  you  know,  is  to-morrow?" 
The  fair  Flora  looked  up  with  a  pitiful  air. 
And  answered  quite  promptly,  "  Why,  Harry,  mon  clier, 
I  should  like  above  all  things  to  go  with  you  there; 
But  really  and  truly — I've  nothing  to  wear." 

"Nothing  to  wear?    Go  just  as  you  are: 

Wear  the  dress  you  have  on,  and  you'll  be  by  far, 

I  engage,  the  most  bright  and  particular  star 

On  the  Stuckup  horizon — "     I  stopped,  for  her  eye. 
Notwithstanding  this  delicate  onset  of  flattery, 
Opened  on  me  at  once  a  most  terrible  battery 

Of  scorn  and  amazement.     She  made  no  reply. 
But  gave  a  slight  turn  to  the  end  of  her  nose 

(That  pure  Grecian  feature),  as  much  as  to  say, 
''  How  absurd  that  any  sane  man  should  suppose 
That  a  lady  would  go  to  a  ball  in  the  clothes, 

No  matter  how  fine,  that  she  wears  every  day ! " 
So  I  ventured  again — "  Wear  your  crimson  brocade." 
(Second     turn-up     of     nose) — "That's     too     dark     by     a 

shade."— 
"  Your  blue  silk—"     "  That's  too  heavy."—"  Your  pink—" 

"  That's  too  light."— 
"  Wear  tulle  over  satin."    "  I  can't  endure  white." — 
"Your  rose-colored,  then,  the  best  of  the  batch — " 
"  I  haven't  a  thread  of  point  lace  to  match." — 
"Your   brown   moire-antique — "     "Yes,    and    look    like    a 

Quaker."— 
"  The  pearl-colored — "     "  I  would,  but  that  plaguy  dress- 
maker 
Has  had  it  a  week." — "  Then  that  exquisite  lilac, 
In  which  you  would  melt  the  heart  of  a  Shylock." 
(Here  the  nose  took  again  the  same  elevation) — 
"  I  wouldn't  wear  that  for  the  whole  of  creation." — 


152  The  Eternal  Feminine 

"Why  not?     It's  my  fancy,  there's  nothing  could  strike  it 
As  more  comme  il  faut " — "  Yes,  but,  dear  me,  that  lean 

Sophronia  Stuckup  has  got  one  just  like  it. 
And  I  won't  appear  dressed  like  a  chit  of  sixteen." — 
"  Then  that  splendid  purple,  that  sweet  mazarine, 
That  superb  point  d'aiguille,  that  imperial  green. 
That  zephyr-like  tarlatan,  that  rich  grenadine — " 

"  Not  one  of  all  which  is  fit  to  be  seen," 
Said  the  lady,  becoming  excited  and  flushed. 
"  Then  wear,"  T  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  quite  crushed 
Opposition,  "  that  gorgeous  toilette  which  you  sported 

In  Paris  last  spring,  at  the  grand  presentation, 

When  you  quite  turned  the  head  of  the  head  of  the  nation; 
And  by  all  the  grand  court  were  so  very  much  courted." 
The  end  of  the  nose  was  portentously  tipped  up, 

And  both  the  bright  eyes  shot  forth  indignation. 

As  she  burst  upon  me  with  the  fierce  exclamation, 

"  I  have  worn  it  three  times  at  the  least  calculation, 
And  that  and  most  of  my  dresses  are  ripped  up ! " 
Here  I  ripped  out  something,  perhaps  rather  rash — 

Quite  innocent,  though;  but  to  use  an  expression 
More  striking  than  classic,  it  "  settled  my  hash," 

And  proved  very  soon  the  last  act  of  our  session. 
"Fiddlesticks,  is  it,  sir?    I  wonder  the  ceiling 
Doesn't  fall  down  and  crush  you! — oh,  you  men  have  no 

feeling. 
You  selfish,  unnatural,  illiberal  creatures, 
Who  set  yourselves  up  as  patterns  and  preachers, 
Your  silly  pretence — why,  what  a  mere  guess  it  is! 
Pray,  what  do  you  know  of  a  woman's  necessities? 
I  have  told  you  and  shown  you  I've  nothing  to  wear. 
And  it's  perfectly  plain  you  not  only  don't  care. 
But  you  do  not  believe  me  "  (here  the  nose  went  still  higher)  : 
"  I  suppose  if  you  dared  you  would  call  me  a  liar. 
Our  engagement  is  ended,  sir — yes,  on  the  spot; 
You're  a  brute,  and  a  monster,  and — I  don't  know  what." 
I  mildly  suggested  the  words  Hottentot, 
Pickpocket,  and  cannibal,  Tartar,  and  thief, 
As  gentle  expletives  which  might  give  relief: 
But  this  only  proved  as  a  spark  to  the  powder, 
And  the  storm  I  had  raised  came  faster  and  louder; 


My  Mistress's  Boots  153 

It  blew,  and  it  rained,  thundered,  lightened,  and  hailed 
Interjections,  verbs,  pronouns,  till  language  quite  failed 
To  express  the  abusive,  and  then  its  arrears 
Were  brought  up  all  at  once  by  a  torrent  of  tears; 
And  my  last  faint,  despairing  attempt  at  an  obs- 
Ervation  was  lost  in  a  tempest  of  sobs. 


Well,  I  felt  for  the  lady,  and  felt  for  my  hat  too, 
Improvised  on  the  crown  of  the  latter  a  tattoo, 
In  lieu  of  expressing  the  feelings  which  lay 
Quite  too  deep  for  words,  as  Wordsworth  would  say: 
Then,  without  going  through  the  form  of  a  bow, 
Found  myself  in  the  entry, — T  hardly  knew  how, — 
On  doorstep  and  sidewalk,  past  lamp-post  and  square. 
At  home  and  up-stairs,  in  my  own  easy-chair; 

Poked  my  feet  into  slippers,  my  fire  into  blaze, 
And  said  to  myself,  as  I  lit  my  cigar, — 
Supposing  a  man  had  the  wealth  of  the  Czar 

Of  the  Russias  to  boot,  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 
On  the  whole  do  you  think  he  would  have  much  time  to  spare 
If  he  married  a  woman  with  nothing  to  wear? 

William  Allen  Butkr. 


MY  MISTRESS'S  BOOTS 

They  nearly  strike  me  dumb. 
And  I  tremble  when  they  come 

Pit-a-pat : 
This  palpitation  means 
These  boots  are  Geraldine's — 

Think  of  that! 

Oh,  where  did  hunter  win 
So  delectable  a  skin 

For  her  feet? 
You  lucky  little  kid, 
You  perished,  so  you  did, 

For  my  sweet! 


I 


164  The  Eternal  Feminine 

The  faery  stitching  gleams 
On  the  sides,  and  in  the  seams, 

And  it  shows 
The  Pixies  were  the  wags 
Who  tipt  those  funny  tags 

And  these  toes. 

What  soles  to  charm  an  elf ! 
Had  Crusoe,  sick  of  self. 

Chanced  to  view 
One  printed  near  the  tide. 
Oh,  how  hard  he  would  have  tried 

For  the  two! 

For  Gerry's  debonair 
And  innocent,  and  fair 

As  a  rose; 
She's  an  angel  in  a  frock, 
With  a  fascinating  cock 

To  her  nose. 

The  simpletons  who  squeeze 
Their  extremities  to  please 

Mandarins, 
Would  positively  flinch 
From  venturing  to  pinch 

Geraldine's. 

Cinderella's  lefts  and  rights. 
To  Geraldine's  were  frights; 

And  I  trow. 
The  damsel,  deftly  shod, 
Has  dutifully  trod 

Until  now. 

Come,  Gerry,  since  it  suits 
Such  a  pretty  Puss  (in  Boots) 

These  to  don; 
Set  this  dainty  hand  awhile 
On  my  shoulder,  dear,  and  I'll 

Put  them  on. 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


Mrs.   Smith  155 


MRS.  SMITH 


Last  year  I  trod  these  fields  with  Di, 
Fields  fresh  with  clover  and  with  rye; 

They  now  seem  arid ! 
Then  Di  was  fair  and  single;  how 
Unfair  it  seems  on  me,  for  now 

Di's  fair — and  married ! 


A  blissful  swain — I  scorn'd  the  song 

Which  says  that  though  young  Love  is  strong, 

The  Fates  are  stronger; 
Breezes  then  blew  a  boon  to  men, 
The  buttercups  were  bright,  and  then 

This  grass  was  longer. 


That  day  I  saw  and  much  esteem'd 
Di's  ankles,  which  the  clover  seem'd    • 

Inclined  to  smother; 
It  twitch'd,  and  soon  untied  (for  fun) 
The  ribbon  of  her  shoes,  first  one. 

And  then  the  other. 


I'm  told  that  virgins  augur  some 
Misfortune  if  their  shoe-strings  come 

To  grief  on  Friday: 
And  so  did  Di,  and  then  her  pride 
Decreed  that  shoe-strings  so  untied 

Are  "  so  untidy !  " 

Of  course  I  knelt;  with  fingers  deft 
I  tied  the  right,  and  then  the  left; 

Says  Di,  "  The  stubble 
Is  very  stupid! — as  I  live, 
I'm  quite  ashamed! — I'm  shock'd  to  give 

You  so  much  trouble  I  " 


156  The  Eternal  Feminine 

For  answer  I  was  fain  to  sink 

To  what  we  all  would  say  and  think 

Were  Beauty  present: 
"  Don't  mention  such  a  simple  act — 
A  trouble?  not  the  least!  in  fact 

It's  rather  pleasant !  " 

I  trust  that  Love  will  never  tease 
Poor  little  Di,  or  prove  that  he's 

A  graceless  rover. 
She's  happy  now  as  Mrs.  Smith — 
And  less  polite  when  walking  with 

Her  chosen  lover! 

Heigh-ho!     Although  no  moral  clings 
To  Di's  blue  eyes,  and  sandal  strings, 

We've  had  our  quarrels! — 
I  think  that  Smith  is  thought  an  ass; 
I  know  that  when  they  walk  in  grass 

She  wears  halmorals. 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


A  TERRIBLE  INFANT 

I  RECOLLECT  a  nursc  call'd  Ann, 

Who  carried  me  about  the  grass, 
And  one  fine  day  a  fine  young  man 

Carne  up,  and  kiss'd  the  pretty  lass. 
She  did  not  make  the  least  objection! 
Thinks  I, ''^/ia/ 
When  I  can  talk  I'll  tell  Mamma" 
— And  that's  my  earliest  recollection." 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


I 


"  I  Didn't  Like  Him  '*  157 

SUSAN 

A   KIND   PROVIDENCE 

He  dropt  a  tear  on  Susan's  bier. 

He  seem'd  a  most  despairing  swain; 

But  bluer  sky  brought  newer  tie, 

And — would  he  wish  her  back  again  ? 

The  moments  fly,  and  when  we  die. 
Will  Philly  Thistletop  complain? 

She'll  cry  and  sigh,  and — dry  her  eye. 
And  let  herself  be  woo'd  again. 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 

"I  DIDN'X  LIKE  HIM" 

Perhaps  you  may  a-notieed  I  been  soht  o'  solemn  lately. 

Haven't  been  a-lookin'  quite  so  pleasant. 
Mabbe  I  have  been  a  little  bit  too  proud  and  stately; 

Dat's  because  I'se  lonesome  jes'  at  present. 
I  an'  him  agreed  to  quit  a  week  or  so  ago, 

Fo'  now  dat  I  am  in  de  social  swim 
I'se  'rived  to  de  opinion  dat  he  ain't  my  style  o'  beau. 

So  I  tole  him  dat  my  watch  was  fas'  fo'  him. 

REFRAIN 

Oh,  I  didn't  like  his  clo'es. 

An'  I  didn't  like  his  eyes. 
Nor  his  walk,  nor  his  talk, 

Nor  his  ready-made  neckties. 
I  didn't  like  his  name  a  bit, 

Jes'  'spise  the  name  o'  Jim; 
If  dern  ere  reasons  ain't  enough, 

I  didn't  like  Eim. 

Dimon'  ring  he  give  to  me,  an'  said  it  was  a  fine  stone. 

Guess  it's  only  alum  mixed  wif  camphor. 
Took  it  roun'  to  Eisenstein ;  he  said  it  was  a  rhinestone. 

Kind,  he  said,  he  didn't  give  a  dam  fur. 


158  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Sealskin  sack  he  give  to  me  it  got  me  in  a  row. 

P'liceman  called  an'  asked  to  see  dat  sack; 
Said  another  lady  lost  it.     Course  I  don't  know  how; 

But  I  had  to  go  to  jail  or  give  it  back. 

REFRAIN 

Oh,  I  didn't  like  his  trade; 

Trade  dat  kep'  him  out  all  night. 
He'd  de  look  ob  a  crook, 

An'  he  owned  a  bull's-eye  light. 
So  when  policemen  come  to  ask 

What  I  know  'bout  dat  Jim, 
I  come  to  de  confusion  dat 

I  didn't  like  Him. 

Harry  B.  Smith. 


MY  ANGELINE 

She  kept  her  secret  well,  oh,  yes. 

Her  hideous  secret  well. 
,We  together  were  cast,  I  knew  not  her  past; 

For  how  was  I  to  tell? 
I  married  her,  guileless  lamb  I  was; 

I'd  have  died  for  her  sweet  sake. 
How  could  I  have  known  that  my  Angeline 

Had  been  a  Human  Snake? 
Ah,  we  had  been  wed  but  a  week  or  two 

When  I  found  her  quite  a  wreck : 
Her  limbs  were  tied  in  a  double  bow-knot 

At  the  back  of  her  swan-like  neck. 
No  curse  there  sprang  to  my  pallid  lips, 

Nor  did  I  reproach  her  then; 
I  calmly  untied  my  bonny  bride 

And  straightened  her  out  again. 

Refrain 
My  Angeline!     My  Angeline! 
Why  didst  disturb  my  mind  serene? 
My  well-beloved  circus  queen, 
My  Human  Snake,  my  Angeline! 


Nora's  Vow  169 

At  night  I'd  wake  at  the  midnight  hour, 

With  a  weird  and  haunted  feeling, 
And  there  she'd  be,  in  her  rohe  de  nuit, 

A-walking  upon  the  ceiling. 
She  said  she  was  being  "  the  human  fly," 

And  she'd  lift  me  up  from  beneath 
By  a  section  slight  of  my  garb  of  night. 

Which  she  held  in  her  pearly  teeth. 
For  the  sweet,  sweet  sake  of  the  Human  Snake 

I'd  have  stood  this  conduct  shady; 
But  she  skipped  in  the  end  with  an  old,  old  friend, 

An  eminent  bearded  lady. 
But,  oh,  at  night,  when  my  slumber's  light. 

Regret  comes  o'er  me  stealing; 
For  I  miss  the  sound  of  those  little  feet. 

As  they  pattered  along  the  ceiling. 

Refrain 
My  Angeline!    My  Angeline! 
Why  didst  disturb  my  mind  serene? 
My  well-beloved  circus  queen. 
My  Human  Snake,  my  Angeline! 

Harry  B.  Smith, 


NORA'S  VOW 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said, — 
"  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed, 
Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die. 
And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 
For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear. 
And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 
That  ever  valour  lost  or  won, 
I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

"A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Galium  spoke, 
"  Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke. 
The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 
Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light; 


160  The  Eternal  Feminine 

.  The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 
That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae; 
Yet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone. 
May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 
May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest; 
The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn; 
Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high, 
Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly; 
But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done. 
Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son.'* 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild  swan  made; 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever. 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel. 

No  Highland  brogue  has  turn'd  the  heel; 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won, 

— She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son! 

Sir  Walter  Scott, 


HUSBAND  AND  HEATHEN 

O'er  the  men  of  Ethiopia  she  would  pour  her  cornucopia. 
And  shower  wealth  and  plenty  on  the  people  of  Japan, 
Send  down  jelly  cake  and  candies  to  the  Indians  of  the  Andes, 
And  a  cargo  of  plum  pudding  to  the  men  of  Hindoostan; 

And  she  said  she  loved  'em  so, 

Bushman,  Finn,  and  lEskimo. 
If  she  had  the  wings  of  eagles  to  their  succour  she  would  fly 

Loaded  down  with  jam  and  jelly. 

Succotash  and  vermicelli. 
Prunes,  pomegranates,  plums  and  pudding,  peaches,  pine- 
apples, and  pie. 

She  would  fly  with  speedy  succour  to  the  natives  of  Molucca 
With  whole  loads  of  quail  and  salmon,  and  with  tons  of 
fricassee 


The  Lost  Pleiad  161 

And  give  cake  in  fullest  measure 
To  the  men  of  Australasia 
And  all  the  Archipelagoes  that  dot  the  southern  sea; 
And  the  Anthropophagi, 
All  their  lives  deprived  of  pie, 
She  would   satiate   and   satisfy   with   custards,   cream,   and 
mince ; 

And  those  miserable  Australians 
And  the  Borrioboolighalians, 
She  would  gorge  with  choicest  jelly,  raspberry,  currant,,  grape, 
and  quince. 


But  like  old  war-time  hardtackers,  her  poor  husband  lived  on 

crackers, 
Bought  at  wholesale  from  a  baker,  eaten  from  the  mantel- 
shelf ; 

If  the  men  of  Madagascar, 
And  the  natives  of  Alaska, 
Had  enough  to  sate  their  hunger,  let  him  look  out  for  himself. 
And  his  coat  had  but  one  tail 
And  he  used  a  shingle  nail 
To  fasten  up  his  galluses  when  he  went  out  to  his  work; 
And  she  used  to  spend  .his  money 
To  buy  sugar-plums  and  honey 
For  the  Terra  del  Fuegian  and  the  Turcoman  and  Turk. 

Sam  Walter  Foss. 


THE  LOST  PLEIAD 

'TwAS  a  pretty  little  maiden 

In  a  garden  gray  and  old, 
Where  the  apple  trees  were  laden 

With  the  magic  fruit  of  gold; 
But  she  strayed  beyond  the  portal 

Of  the  garden  of  the  Sun, 
And  she  flirted  with  a  mortal, 

Which  she  oughtn't  to  have  done  I 


162  The  Eternal  Feminine 

For  a  giant  was  her  father  and  a  goddess  was  her  mother, 
She  was  Merope  or  Sterope — the  one  or  else  the  other; 
And  the  man  was  not  the  equal,  though  presentable  and  rich, 
Of  Merope  or  Sterope — I  don't  remember  which! 

Now  the  giant's  daughters  seven, 

She  among  them,  if  you  please, 
Were  translated  to  the  heaven 

As  the  starry  Pleiades! 
But  amid  their  constellation 

One  alone  was  always  dark, 
For  she  shrank  from  observation 

Or  censorious  remark. 

She  had  yielded  to  a  mortal  when  he  came  to  flirt  and  flatter. 
She  was  Merope  or  Sterope — the  former  or  the  latter; 
So  the  planets  all  ignored  her,  and  the  comets  wouldn't  call 
On  Merope  or  Sterope — I  am  not  sure  at  all! 

But  the  Dog-star,  brightly  shining 

In  the  hottest  of  July, 
Saw  the  pretty  Pleiad  pining 

In  the  shadow  of  the  sky. 
And  he  courted  her  and  kissed  her 

Till  she  kindled  into  light; 
And  the  Pleiads'  erring  sister 

Was  the  lady  of  the  night! 

So  her  former  indiscretion  as  a  fault  was  never  reckoned, 
To  Merope  or  Sterope — the  first  or  else  the  second. 
And  you'll  never  see  so  rigidly  respectable  a  dame 
As  Merope  or  Sterope — I  can't  recall  her  name! 

Arthur  Reed  Ropes. 


THE  NEW  CHURCH  ORGAN 

They've  got  a  brand-new  organ.  Sue, 
For  all  their  fuss  and  search; 

They've  done  just  as  they  said  they'd  do. 
And  fetched  it  into  church. 


The  New  Church  Organ  163 

They're  bound  the  critter  shall  be  seen, 

And  on  the  preacher's  right 
They've  hoisted  up  their  new  machine 

In  everybody's  sight. 
They"'ve  got  a  chorister  and  choir, 

Ag'in'  my  voice  and  vote; 
For  it  was  never  my  desire 

To  praise  the  Lord  by  note. 

I've  been  a  sister  good  an'  true 

For  five-an'-thirty  year; 
Fve  done  what  seemed  my  part  to  do. 

An'  prayed  my  duty  clear; 
Fve  sung  the  hymns  both  slow  and  quick. 

Just  as  the  preacher  read, 
And  twice,  when  Deacon  Tubbs  was  sick, 

I  took  the  fork  an'  led; 
And  now,  their  bold,  new-fangled  ways 

Is  comin'  all  about; 
And  I,  right  in  my  latter  days, 

Am  fairly  crowded  out! 

To-day  the  preacher,  good  old  dear. 

With  tears  all  in  his  eyes. 
Read,  "  I  can  read  my  title  clear 

To  mansions  in  the  skies." 
I  al'ays  liked  that  blessed  hymn — 

I  s'pose  I  al'ays  will — 
It  somehow  gratifies  my  whim, 

In  good  old  Ortonville; 
But  when  that  choir  got  up  to  sing, 

I  couldn't  catch  a  word; 
They  sung  the  most  dog-gondest  thing 

A  body  ever  heard! 

Some  worldly  chaps  was  standin'  near; 

An'  when  I  see  them  grin, 
I  bid  farewell  to  every  fear, 

And  boldly  waded  in. 
I  thought  I'd  chase  their  tune  along, 

An'  tried  with  all  my  might; 


164  The  Eternal  Feminine 

But  though  my  voice  was  good  an'  strong, 

I  couldn't  steer  it  right. 
When  they  was  high,  then  I  was  low. 

An'  also  contrawise; 
An'  I  too  fast,  or  they  too  slow. 

To  "mansions  in  the  skies." 

An'  after  every  verse,  you  know 

They  play  a  little  tune; 
I  didn't  understand,  and  so 

I  started  in  too  soon. 
I  pitched  it  pretty  middlin'  high, 

I  fetched  a  lusty  tone. 
But  oh,  alas !  I  found  that  I 

Was  singin'  there  alone! 
They  laughed  a  little,  I  am  told; 

But  I  had  done  my  best; 
And  not  a  wave  of  trouble  rolled 

Across  my  peaceful  breast. 

And  Sister  Brown — I  could  but  look — 

She  sits  right  front  of  me; 
She  never  was  no  singin'-book. 

An'  never  went  to  be ; 
But  then  she  al'ays  tried  to  do 

The  best  she  could,  she  said ; 
She  understood  the  time  right  through, 

An'  kep'  it  with  her  head; 
But  when  she  tried  this  mornin',  oh, 

I  had  to  laugh,  or  cough! 
It  kep'  her  head  a-bobbin'  so. 

It  e'en  a'most  came  off. 

An'  Deacon  Tubbs — he  all  broke  'down. 

As  one  might  well  suppose; 
He  took  one  look  at  Sister  Brown, 

And  meekly  scratched  his  nose. 
He  looked  his  hymn-book  through  and  through. 

And  laid  it  on  the  seat, 
And  then  a  pensive  sigh  he  drew. 

And  looked  completely  beat. 


Larrie  O'Dee  165 


And  when  they  took  another  bout, 

He  didn't  even  rise; 
But  drawed  his  red  bandanner  out. 

An'  wiped  his  weepin'  eyes. 

I've  been  a  sister,  good  an'  true, 

For  five-an'-thirty  year; 
I've  done  what  seemed  my  part  to  do, 

An'  prayed  my  duty  clear; 
But  Death  will  stop  my  voice,  I  know. 

For  he  is  on  my  track; 
And  some  day  I  to  church  will  go, 

And  nevermore  come  back; 
And  when  the  folks  gets  up  to  sing — 

Whene'er  that  time  shall  be — 
I  do  not  want  no  patent  thing 

A-squealin'  over  me! 


Will  Carleton. 


LAKRIE  O'DEE 


Now  the  Widow  McGee, 

And  Larrie  O'Dee, 
Had  two  little  cottages  out  on  the  green. 
With  just  room  enough  for  two  pig-pens  between. 
The  widow  was  young  and  the  widow  was  fair. 
With  the  brightest  of  eyes  and  the  brownest  of  hair, 
And  it  frequently  chanced,  when  she  came  in  the  morn, 
With  the  swill  for  her  pig,  Larrie  came  with  the  corn, 
And  some  of  the  ears  that  he  tossed  from  his  hand 
In  the  pen  of  the  widow  were  certain  to  land. 

One  morning  said  he : 
"  Och !  Misthress  McGee, 
It's  a  waste  of  good  lumber,  this  runnin'  two  rigs, 
Wid  a  fancy  purtition  betwane  our  two  pigs ! " 
"  Tndade,  sur,  it  is !  "  answered  Widow  McGee, 
With  the  sweetest  of  smiles  upon  Larrie  O'Dee. 
*'  And  thin,  it  looks  kind  o'  hard-hearted  and  mane, 
Kapin'  two  friendly  pigs  so  exsaidenly  near 
That  whiniver  one  grunts  the  other  can  hear, 
And  yit  kape  a  cruel  purtition  betwane." 


166  The  Eternal  Feminine 

•"  Shwate  Widow  McGee," 

Answered  Larrie  O'Dee, 
"  If  ye  f  ale  in  your  heart  we  are  mane  to  the  pigs, 
Ain't  we  mane  to  ourselves  to  be  runnin'  two  rigs? 
Och !  it  made  me  heart  ache  when  I  paped  through  the  cracks 
Of  me  shanty,  lasht  March,  at  yez  shwingin'  yer  axe; 
An'  a-bobbin'  yer  head  an'  a-shtompin'  yer  fate, 
Wid  yer  purty  white  hands  jisht  as  red  as  a  bate, 
A-shplittin't  yer  kindlin'-wood  out  in  the  shtorm, 
When  one  little  shtove  it  would  kape  us  both  warm ! " 

"Now,  piggy,"  says  she, 

"Larrie's  courtin'  o'  me, 
Wid  his  dilicate  tinder  allusions  to  you; 
So  now  yez  must  tell  me  jisht  what  T  must  do; 
For,  if  I'm  to  say  yes,  shtir  the  swill  wid  yer  snout; 
But  if  I'm  to  say  no,  ye  must  kape  yer  nose  out. 
Now  Larrie,  for  shame !  to  be  bribin'  a  pig 
By  a-tossin'  a  handful  of  corn  in  its  shwig!  " 
"Me  darlint,  the  piggy  says  yes,"  answered  he. 
And  that  was  the  courtship  of  Larrie  O'Dee. 

William  W.  Fink, 

NO  FAULT  IN  WOMEN 

No  fault  in  women,  to  refuse 

The  offer  which  they  most  would  choose. 

No  fault  in  women  to  confess 

How  tedious  they  are  in  their  dress; 

No  fault  in  women,  to  lay  on 

The  tincture  of  vermilion, 

And  there  to  give  the  cheek  a  dye 

Of  white,  where  Nature  doth  deny. 

No  fault  in  women,  to  make  show 

Of  largeness,  when  they've  nothing  so ; 

When,  true  it  is,  the  outside  swells 

With  inward  buckram,  little  else. 

No  fault  in  women,  though  they  be 

But  seldom  from  suspicion  free; 

No  fault  in  womankind  at  all. 

If  they  but  slip,  and  never  fall. 

Robert  Herrick, 


A  Cosmopolitan  Woman  167 


A  COSMOPOLITAN  WOMAN 

She  went  round  and  asked  subscriptions 
For  the  heathen  black  Egyptians 
And  the  Terra  del  Fuegians, 

She  did; 
For  the  tribes  round  Athabasca, 
And  the  men  of  Madagascar, 
And  the  poor  souls  of  Alaska, 

So  she  did; 
She  longed,  she  said,  to  buy- 
Jelly,  cake,  and  jam,  and  pie. 
For  the  Anthropophagi, 

So  she  did. 

Her  heart  ached  for  the  Australians 
And  the  Borriobooli-Ghalians, 
And  the  poor  dear  Amahagger, 

Yes,  it  did; 
And  she  loved  the  black  Numidian, 
And  the  ebon  Abyssinian, 
And  the  charcoal-coloured  Guinean, 

Oh,  she  did! 
And  she  said  she'd  cross  the  seas 
With  a  ship  of  bread  and  cheese 
For  those  starving  Chimpanzees, 

So  she  did. 

How  she  loved  the  cold  Norwegian 
And  th^  poor  half -melted  Feejeean, 
And  the  dear  Molucca  Islander, 

She  did: 
She  sent  tins  of  red  tomato 
To  the  tribes  beyond  the  Equator, 
But  her  husband  ate  potato. 

So  he  did; 
The  poor  helpless,  homeless  thing 
(My  voice  falters  as  I  sing) 
Tied  his  clothes  up  with  a  string, 

Yes,  he  did. 

Unknown. 


168  The  Eternal  Feminine 


COUETING  IN  KENTUCKY 

When  Mary  Ann  Dollinger  got  the  skule  daown  thar  on 

Injun  Bay, 
I  was  glad,  fer  I  like  ter  see  a  gal  makiri'  her  honest  way. 
I  heerd  some  talk  in  the  village  abaout  her  flyin'  high. 
Tew  high  fer  busy  farmer  folks  with  chores  ter  do  ter  fly; 
But  I  paid  no  sorter  attention  ter  all  the  talk  ontell 
She  come  in  her  reg'lar  boardin'  raound  ter  visit  with  us  a 

spell. 
My  Jake  an'  her  had  been  cronies  ever  since  they  could  walk, 
An'  it  tuk  me  aback  to  hear  her  kerrectin'  him  in  his  talk. 

Jake  ain't  no  hand  at  grammar,  though  he  hain't  his  beat 

for  work ; 
But  I  sez  ter  myself,  "  Look  out,  my  gal,  yer  a-foolin'  with 

a  Turk!" 
Jake  bore  it  wonderful  patient,  an'  said  in  a  mournful  way, 
lie  p'sumed  he  was  behindhand  with  the  doin's  at  Injun  Bay. 
I  remember  once  he  was  askin'  for  some  o'  my  Injun  buns. 
An'  she  said  he  should  alius  say,  "them  air,"  stid  o'  "them 

is  "  the  ones. 
Wal,  Mary  Ann  kep'  at  him  stiddy  mornin'  an'  evenin'  long,' 
Tell  he  dassent  open  his  mouth  for  fear  o'  talkin'  wrong. 

One  day  I  was  pickin'  currants  daown  by  the  old  quince-tree, 
When  I  heerd  Jake's  voice  a-saying',  "  Be  yer  willin'  ter 

marry  me?" 
An'  Mary  Ann  kerrectin',  'Air  ye  willin'  yeou  sh'd  say"; 
Our  Jake  he  put  his  foot  daown  in  a  plum,  decided  way, 
"  No  wimmen-folks  is  a-goin'  ter  be  rearrangin'  me, 
Hereafter  I  says  'craps,'  'them  is,'  'I  calk'late,'  an'  'I  be.' 
Ef  folks  don't  like  my  talk  they  needn't  hark  ter  what  I  say: 
But  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  take  no  sass  from  folks  from  Injun  Bay. 
I  ask  you  free  an'  final,  '  Be  ye  goin'  ter  marry  me?'" 
An'  Mary  Ann  says,  tremblin,  yet  anxious-like,  "  I  be." 

Florence  E.  Pratt. 


I 


Any  One  Will  Do  169 


ANY  ONE  WILL  DO 


A  MAIDEN  once,  of  certain  age, 
To  catch  a  husband  did  engage; 
But,  having  passed  the  prime  of  life 
In  striving  to  become  a  wife 
Without  success,  she  thought  it  time 
To  mend  the  follies  of  her  prime. 


Departing  from  the  usual  course 
Of  paint  and  such  like  for  resource. 
With  all  her  might  this  ancient  maid 
Beneath  an  oak-tree  knelt  and  prayed; 
Unconscious  that  a  grave  old  owl 
Was  perched  above — the  mousing  fowl ! 


"  Oh,  give !  a  husband  give !  "  she  cried, 
"While  yet  I  may  become  a  bride; 
Soon  will  my  day  of  grace  be  o'er. 
And  then,  like  many  maids  before, 
I'll  die  without  an  early  love. 
And  none  to  meet  me  there  above! 


"  Oh,  'tis  a  fate  too  hard  to  bear ! 

Then  answer  this  my  liumble  prayer, 

And  oh,  a  husband  give  to  me !  " 

Just  then  the  owl  from  out  the  tree. 

In  deep  bass  tones  cried,  "  Who — who — who!  " 

"  Who,  Lord  ?    And  dost  Thou  ask  me  who  ? 

Why,  any  one,  good  Lord,  will  do." 

Unknown. 


170  The  Eternal  Feminine 


A  BIKD  IN  THE  HAND 

There  were  three  young  maids  of  Lee; 

They  were  fair  as  fair  can  be, 

And  thqy  had  lovers  three  times  three, 

For  they  were  fair  as  fair  can  be. 

These  three  young  maids  of  Lee. 
But  these  young  maids  they  cannot  find 
A  lover  each  to  suit  her  mind; 
The  plain-spoke  lad  is  far  too  rough, 
The  rich  young  lord  is  not  rich  enough. 
The  one  is  too  poor,  and  one  is  too  tall, 
And  one  just  an  inch  too  short  for  them  all. 
"  Others  pick  and  choose,  and  why  not  we  ? 
We  can  very  well  wait,"  said  the  maids  of  Lee. 

There  were  three  young  maids  of  Lee; 

They  were  fair  as  fair  can  be, 

And  they  had  lovers  three  times  three 

For  they  were  fair  as  fair  can  be, 

These  three  young  maids  of  Lee. 

There  are  three  old  maids  of  Lee, 

And  they  are  old  as  old  can  be, 

And  one  is  deaf,  and  one  cannot  see, 

And  they  are  all  as  cross  as  a  gallows-tree, 

These  three  old  maids  of  Lee. 
Now,  if  any  one  chanced — 'tis  a  chance  remote — 
One  single  charm  in  these  maids  to  note, 
He  need  not  a  poet  nor  handsome  be. 
For  one  is  deaf  and  one  cannot  see ; 
He  need  not  woo  on  his  bended  knee, 
For  they  all  are  willing  as  willing  can  be. 
He  may  take  the  one,  or  the  two,  or  the  three. 
If  he'll  only  take  them  away  from  Lee. 

There  are  three  old  maids  at  Lee ; 

They  are  cross  as  cross  can  be; 

And  there  they  are,  and  there  they'll  be 

To  the  end  of  the  chapter,  one,  two,  three, 

These  three  old  maids  of  Lee. 

Frederic  E.  Weatherly. 


The  Belle  of  the  Ball  171 


THE  BELLE  OF  THE  BALL 

Years — years  ago, — ere  yet  my  dreams 

Had  been  of  being  wise  and  witty, — 
Ere  I  had  done  with  writing  themes, 

Or  yawn'd  o'er  this  infernal  Chitty; — 
Years,  years  ago,  while  all  my  joy 

Was  in  my  fowling-piece  and  filly: 
In  short,  while  I  was  yet  a  boy, 

I  fell  in  love  with  Laura  Lily. 


I  saw  her  at  the  county  ball; 

There,  when  the  sounds  of  flute  and  fiddle 
Gave  signal  sweet  in  that  old  hall 

Of  hands  across  and  down  the  middle, 
Hers  was  the  subtlest  spell  by  far 

Of  all  that  set  young  hearts  romancing: 
She  was  our  queen,  our  rose,  our  star; 

And  when  she  danced — O  Heaven,  her  dancing ! 


Dark  was  her  hair,  her  hand  was  white; 

Her  voice  was  exquisitely  tender, 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  liquid  light; 

I  never  saw  a  waist  so  slender; 
Her  every  look,  her  every  smile, 

Shot  right  and  left  a  score  of  arrows ; 
I  thought  'twas  Venus  from  her  isle. 

And  wonder'd  where  she'd  left  her  sparrows. 


She  talk'd, — of  politics  or  prayers; 

Of  Southey's  prose,  or  Wordsworth's  sonnets; 
Of  daggers  or  of  dancing  bears, 

Of  battles,  or  the  last  new  bonnets ; 
By  candle-light,  at  twelve  o'clock, 

To  me  it  matter'd  not  a  tittle. 
If  those  bright  lips  had  quoted  Locke, 

I  might  have  thought  they  murmur'd  Little. 


172  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Through  sunny  May,  through  sultry  June, 

I  loved  her  with  a  love  eternal; 
I  spoke  her  praises  to  the  moon, 

I  wrote  them  for  the  Sunday  Journal. 
My  mother  laugh'd;  I  soon  found  out 

That  ancient  ladies  have  no  feeling; 
My  father  frown'd;  but  how  should  gout 

See  any  happiness  in  kneeling  ? 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  Dean,    ^^^ 

Rich,  fat,  and  rather  apoplectic;  ^i^ 
She  had  one  brother,  just  thirteen. 

Whose  color  was  extremely  hectic; 
Her  grandmother  for  many  a  year 

Had  fed  the  parish  with  her  bounty; 
Her  second  cousin  was  a  peer. 

And  lord  lieutenant  of  the  county. 

But  titles  and  the  three  per  cents. 

And  mortgages,  and  great  relations. 
And  India  bonds,  and  tithes  and  rents, 

Oh!  what  are  they  to  love's  sensations? 
Black  eyes,  fair  forehead,  clustering  locks, 

Such  wealth,  such  honors,  Cupid  chooses; 
He  cares  as  little  for  the  stocks, 

As  Baron  Rothschild  for  the  Muses. 

She  sketch'd;  the  vale,  the  wood,  the  beach. 

Grew  lovelier  from  her  pencil's  shading; 
She  botanized;  I  envied  each 

Young  blossom  in  her  boudoir  fading ; 
She  warbled  Handel ;  it  was  grand — 

She  made  the  Catalani  jealous ; 
She  touch'd  the  organ;  I  could  stand 

For  hours  and  hours  to  blow  the  bellows. 

She  kept  an  album,  too,  at  home, 
Well  fill'd  with  all  an  album's  glories; 

Paintings  of  butterflies,  and  Rome, 

Patterns  for  trimming,  Persian  stories; 


The  Belle  of  the  Ball  173 


Soft  songs  to  Julia's  cockatoo, 
Fierce  odes  to  Famine  and  to  Slaughter; 

And  autographs  of  Prince  Leboo, 
And  recipes  for  elder  water. 

And  she  was  flatter'd,  worshipp'd,  bored; 

Her  steps  were  watch'd,  her  dress  was  noted; 
Her  poodle  dog  was  quite  adored, 
H^^Uffeyings  were  extremely  quoted. 
I'd,  and  every  heart  was  glad, 
taxes  were  abolish'd; 
She  frowJW|.  and  every  look  was  sad, 
As  if  the^pera  were  demolished. 

She  smil'd  on  many  just  for  fun — 

I  knew  that  there  was  nothing  in  it; 
I  was  the  first — the  only  one 

Her  heart  had  thought  of  for  a  minute; 
I  knew  it,  for  she  told  me  so, 

In  phrase  which  was  divinely  moulded; 
She  wrote  a  charming  hand, — and  oh ! 

How  sweetly  all  her  notes  were  folded! 

Our  love  was  like  most  other  loves — 

A  little  glow,  a  little  shiver; 
A  rosebud  and  a  pair  of  gloves. 

And  "Fly  Not  Yet,"  upon  the  river; 
Some  jealousy  of  some  one's  heir. 

Some  hopes  of  dying  broken-hearted, 
A  miniature,  a  lock  of  hair, 

The  usual  vows — and  then  we  parted. 


We  parted; — months  and  years  roll'd  by; 

We  met  again  four  summers  after ; 
Our  parting  was  all  sob  and  sigh — 

Our  meeting  was  all  mirth  and  laughter; 
For  in  my  heart's  most  secret  cell. 

There  had  been  many  other  lodgers; 
And  she  was  not  the  ballroom  belle. 

But  only — Mrs.  Something  Rogers. 

Winthrop  Mackworth  Praed. 


A 


174  The  Eternal  Feminine 


THE  KETORT 

Old  Nick,  who  taught  the  village  school, 
Wedded  a  maid  of  homespun  habit; 

He  was  as  stubborn  as  a  mule. 
She  was  as  playful  as  a  rabbit. 

Poor  Jane  had  scarce  become  a  wife, 
Before  her  husband  sought  to  mak^er 

The  pink  of  country-polished  life,       ^ 
And  prim  and  formal  as  a  Quaker. 

One  day  the  tutor  went  abroad. 

And  simple  Jenny  sa/lly  missed  him; 

When  he  returned,  behind  her  lord 
She  slyly  stole,  and  fondly  kissed  him! 

The  husband's  anger  rose ! — and  red 

And  white  his  face  alternate  grew! 
"  Less  freedom,  ma'am !  "  Jane  sighed  and  said, 

"  Oh,  dear!    I  didn't  hnow  'twas  you!" 

George  Pope  Morris. 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'  BEFORE  EOLK 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
And  dinna  be  sae  rude  to  me. 
As  kiss  me  sae  before  folk. 

It  wadna  gi'e  me  meikle  pain. 
Gin  we  were  seen  and  heard  by  nana, 
To  tak'  a  kiss,  or  grant  you  ane; 
But  guidsake!  no  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Whate'er  ye  do,  when  out  o'  view, 
Be  cautious  aye  before  folk. 


Behave  Yoursel'  Before  Folk  175 

Consider,  lad,  how  folk  will  crack. 
And  what  a  great  affair  they'll  mak' 
O'  naething  but  a  simple  smack, 
That's  gi'en  or  ta'en  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Nor  gi'e  the  tongue  o'  auld  or  young 
Occasion  to  come  o'er  folk. 


It's  no  through  hatred  o'  a  kiss, 
That  I  sae  plainly  tell  you  this; 
But,  losh!  I  tak'  it  sair  amiss 
To  be  sae  teazed  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
When  we're  our  lane  ye  may  tak'  ane, 
But  fient  a  ane  before  folk. 

I'm  sure  wi'  you  I've  been  as  free 
As  ony  modest  lass  should  be; 
But  yet  it  doesna  do  to  see 
Sic  freedom  used  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
I'll  ne'er  submit  again  to  it — 
So  mind  you  that — before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  face  is  fair; 
It  may  be  sae — I  dinna  care — 
But  ne'er  again  gar't  blush  sae  sair 
As  ye  ha'e  done  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Nor  heat  my  cheeks  wi'  your  mad  freaks, 
But  aye  de  douce  before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  lips  are  sweet, 
Sic  tales,  I  doubt,  are  a'  deceit; 
At  ony  rate,  it's  hardly  meet 
To  pree  their  sweets  before  folk. 


176  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Gin  that's  the  case,  there's  time,  and  place, 
But  surely  no  before  folk. 


But,  gin  you  really  do  insist 
That  I  should  suffer  to  be  kiss'd, 
Gae,  get  a  license  frae  the  priest, 
And  mak'  me  yours  before  folk. 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
And  when  we're  ane,  baith  flesh  and  bane, 
Ye  may  tak'  ten — before  folk. 

Alexander  Rodger. 


THE  CHRONICLE:  A  BALLAD 

Margarita  first  possess'd, 

If  I  remember  well,  my  breast, 

Margarita,  first  of  all; 
But  when  a  while  the  wanton  maid 
With  my  restless  heart  had  play'd, 

Martha  took  the  flying  ball. 


Martha  soon  did  it  resign 
To  the  beauteous  Catharine. 

Beauteous  Catharine  gave  place 
(Though  loth  and  angry  she  to  part 
With  the  possession  of  ray  heart) 

To  Eliza's  conquering  face. 

Eliza  till  this  hour  might  reign, 
Had  she  not  evil  counsel  ta'en: 

Fundamental  laws  she  broke, 
And  still  new  favourites  she  chose. 
Till  up  in  arms  my  passions  rose, 

And  cast  away  her  yoke. 


The  Chronicle:  A  Ballad  177 

Mary  then  and  gentle  Anne, 
Both  to  reign  at  once  began, 

Alternately  they  swayed: 
And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  fair, 
And  sometimes  Anne  the  crown  did  wear, 

And  sometimes  both  I  obey'd. 

Another  Mary  then  arose. 

And   did   rigorous   laws   impose; 

A  mighty  tyrant  she! 
Long,  alas,  should  I  have  been 
Under  that  iron-scepter'd  queen. 

Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 
'Twas  then  a  golden  time  with  me, 

But  soon  those  pleasures  fled; 
For  the  gracious  princess  died 
In  her  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 

And  Judith  reigned  in  her  stead. 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour, 
Judith  held  the  soTCreign  power. 

Wondrous  beautiful  her  face; 
But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit. 
That  she  to  govern  was  unfit. 

And  so  Susanna  took  her  place. 

But  when  Isabella  came, 
Arm'd  with  a  resistless  flame. 

And  th'  artillery  of  her  eye; 
Whilst  she  proudly  march'd  about 
Greater  conquests  to  find  out: 

She  beat  out  Susan  by  the  bye. 

But  in  her  place  I  then  obey'd 
Black-ey'd  Bess,  her  viceroy  maid, 

To  whom  ensued  a  vacancy: 
Thousand  worse  passions  then  possessed 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast; 

Bless  me  from  such  an  anarchy. 


178  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Gentle  Henrietta  then, 

And  a  third  Mary  next  began; 

Then  Joan,  and  Jane,  and  Andria: 
And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 
And  then  another  Catharine, 

And  then  a  long  et  caetera. 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate 
The  strength  and  riches  of  their  state, 

The  powder,  patches,  and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels,  and  the  rings. 
The  lace,  the  paint,  and  warlike  things, 

That  make  up  all  their  magazines: 

If  I  should  tell  the  politic  arts 
To  take  and  keep  men's  hearts; 

The  letters,  embassies,  and  spies. 
The  frowns,  and  smiles,  and  flatteries, 
The  quarrels,  tears,  and  perjuries. 

Numberless,  nameless,  mysteries! 

And  all  the  little  lime-twigs  laid 
By  Machiavel,  the  waiting  maid; 

I  more  voluminous  should  grow 
(Chiefly  if  I,  like  them,  should  tell 
All  change  of  weather  that  befel) 

Than  Holinshed  or  Stow. 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be, 
Since  few  of  them  were  long  with  me : 

An  higher  and  a  nobler  strain 
My  present  empress  does  claim, 
Eleonora,  first  o'  th'  name, 

Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign. 

Abraham  Cowley. 


Buxom  Joan  179 


BUXOM  JOAN 

A  SOLDIER  and  a  sailor, 

A  tinker  and  a  tailor, 

Had  once  a  doubtful  strife,  sir. 

To  make  a  maid  a  wife,  sir. 

Whose  name  was  Buxom  Joan. 
For  now  the  time  was  ended. 
When  she  no  more  intended 
To  lick  her  lips  at  men,  sir, 
And  gnaw  the  sheets  in  vain,  sir. 

And  lie  o*  nights  alone. 

The  soldier  swore  like  thunder. 
He  loved  her  more  than  plunder; 
And  showed  her  many  a  scar,  sir, 
That  he  had  brought  from  far,  sir, 

With  fighting  for  her  sake. 
The  tailor  thought  to  please  her, 
With  offering  her  his  measure. 
The  tinker  too  with  mettle, 
Said  he  could  mend  her  kettle. 

And  stop  up  every  leak. 

But  while  these  three  were  prating. 
The  sailor  slily-  waiting, 
Thought  if  it  came  about,  sir, 
That  they  should  all  fall  out,  sir, 

He  then  might  play  his  part. 
And  just  e'en  as  he  meant,  sir. 
To  loggerheads  they  went,  sir. 
And  then  he  let  fly  at  her 
A  shot  'twixt  wind  and  water. 

That  won  this  fair  maid's  heart. 

William  Congreve. 


b 


180  The  Eternal  Feminine 


OH,  MY  GERALDINE 

Oh,  my  Geraldine, 

No  flow'r  was  ever  seen  so  toodle  um. 

You  are  my  lum  ti  toodle  lay, 

Pretty,  pretty  queen. 
Is   rum   ti   Geraldine   and   something  teen, 
More  sweet  than  tiddle  lum  in  May. 

Like  the  star  so  bright 

That  somethings  all  the  night. 
My  Geraldine! 
You're  fair  as  the  rum  ti  lum  ti  sheen, 

Hark!  there  is  what — ho! 

From  something — um,  you  know, 
Dear,  what  I  mean. 
Oh !  rum !  tum ! !  turn ! ! !  my  Geraldine. 

F.  C  Burnand. 


THE  PARTERRE 

I  don't  know  any  greatest  treat 

As  sit  him  in  a  gay  parterre, 
And  sniff  one  up  the  perfume  sweet 
Of  every  roses  buttoning  there. 

It  only  want  my  charming  miss 

Who  make  to  blush  the  self  red  rose; 
Oh!  I  have  envy  of  to  kiss 
The  end's  tip  of  her  splendid  nose. 

Oh!  I  have  envy  of  to  be 

What  grass  'neath  her  pantoffle  push. 
And  too  much  happy  seemeth  me 

The  margaret  which  her  vestige  crush. 

But  I  will  meet  her  nose  at  nose. 
And  take  occasion  for  her  hairs. 

And  indicate  her  all  my  woes, 

That  she  in  fine  agree  my  prayers. 


How  to  Ask  and  Have  181 

The  Envoy 
I  don't  know  any  greatest  treat 
As  sit  him  in  a  gay  parterre, 
With  Madame  who  is  too  more  sweet 
Than  every  roses  buttoning  there. 

E.  H.  Palmer. 


HOW  TO  ASK  AND  HAVE 

"  Oh,  'tis  time  I  should  talk  to  your  mother. 

Sweet  Mary,"  says  I; 
"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  my  mother,"  says  Mary, 

Beginning  to  cry: 
"  For  my  mother  says  men  are  decaivers, 

And  never,  I  know,  will  consent; 
She  says  girls  in  a  hurry  to  marry,  ^ 

At  leisure  repent." 

"  Then,  suppose  I  should  talk  to  your  father. 

Sweet  Mary,"  says  I; 
"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  my  father,"  says  Mary, 

Beginning  to  cry: 
"  For  my  father  he  loves  me  so  dearly, 

He'll  never  consent  I  should  go; — 
If  you  talk  to  my  father,"  says  Mary, 

"He'll  surely   say   ^No.'" 

"  Then  how  shall  I  get  you,  my  jewel, 

Sweet  Mary?"  says  I; 
"  If  your  father  and  mother's  so  cruel. 

Most  surely  I'll  die!" 
"Oh,  never  say  die,  dear,"  says  Mary; 

"A  way  now  to  save  you  I  see: 
Since  my  parents  are  both  so  conthrairy. 

You'd  better  ask  me/' 

Samuel  Lover. 


182  The  Eternal  Feminine 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart, 

There's  none  like  Pretty  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling   of   my  heart. 

And  lives  in  our  alley. 
There's  ne'er  a  lady  in  the  land 

That's  half  so  sweet  as  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  lives  in   our   alley. 


Her  father  he  makes  cabbage-nets, 

And  through  the  streets  does  cry  them; 
Her  mother  she  sells  laces  long 

To  such  as  please  to  buy  them: 
But  sure   such  folk   can  have  no   part 

In   such   a   girl   as    Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  lives   in  our  alley. 


When  she  is  by,  I  leave  my  work, 

I  love  her  so  sincerely; 
My  master  comes,  like  any   Turk, 

And  bangs  me  most  severely: 
But  let  him  bang,  long  as  he  will, 

I'll  bear  it  all  for  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  lives  in  our  alley. 


Of  all  the  days  are  in  the  week, 

I  dearly  love  but  one  day, 
And  that's  the  day  that  comes  betwixt 

A   Saturday   and   Monday; 
For  then  I'm  dressed,  all  in  my  best, 

To  walk  abroad  with  Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  lires  in  our  alley. 


I 


False  Love  and  True  Logic  183 

My  master  carries  me  to  church, 

And  often  am  I  blamed. 
Because  I  leave  him  in  the  lurch. 

Soon  as  the  text  is  named: 
I   leave   the   church   in   sermon   time, 

And  slink  away  to   Sally; 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart. 

And  lives  in   our  alley. 

When  Christmas  comes  about  again, 

Oh,  then  I  shall  have  money;  ! 

I'll  hoard  it  up   and,  box  and  all, 

I'll   give   it   to   my   honey; 
Oh,  would  it  were  ten  thousand  pounds, 

I'd  give  it  all  to  Sally; 
For  she's  the  darling  of  my  heart, 

And  lives  in  our  alley. 

My  master,  and  the  neighbors   all, 

Make  game  of  me  and   Sally, 
And  but  for  her  I'd  better  be 

A  slave,  and  row  a  galley: 
But  when  my  seven  long  years  are  out. 

Oh,  then  I'll  marry  Sally,  t^\*C  '^.l  d.  * 

And  then  how  happily  we'll  live —    0«'^«.  >" 

But  not  in  our  alley. 

Henry  Carey. 

FALSE  LOVE  AND  TKUE  LOGIC 

THE    DISCONSOLATE 

My  heart  will  break — I'm  sure  it  will: 

My  lover,  yes,  my  favorite — he 
Who  seemed  my  own  through  good  and  ill — 

Has  basely  turned  his  back  on  me. 

THE  COMFORTER 

Ah!   silly  sorrower,  weep  no  more; 

Your  lover's  turned  his  back,  we  see; 
But  you  had  turned  his  head  before. 

And  now  he's  as  he  ought  to  be. 

Laman  Blanchard. 


184  The  Eternal  Feminine 


PET'S  PUNISHMENT 

O,  IF  my  love  offended  me, 

And  we  had  words  together, 
To  show  her  I  would  master  be, 

I'd  whip  her  with  a  feather! 

If  then  she,  like  a  naughty  girl, 

Would  tyranny  declare  it, 
I'd  give  my  pet  a  cross  of  pearl, 

And  make  her  always  bear  it. 

If  still  she  tried  to  sulk  and  sigh, 

And   threw   away  my  posies, 
I'd  catch  my  darling  on  the  sly, 

And  smother  her  with  roses. 

But  should  she  clench  her  dimpled  fists. 

Or  contradict  her  betters, 
I'd   manacle   her   tiny   wrists 

With  dainty  jewelled  fetters. 

And  if  she  dared  her  lips  to  pout. 

Like  many  pert  young  misses, 
I'd  wind  my  arm  her  waist  about, 

And  punish  her — ^with  kisses! 

/.  Ashby-St-erry. 


AD  CHLOEN,  M.A. 

FRESH    FROM    HER   CAMBRIDGE   EXAMINATION 

Lady,  very  fair  are  you. 
And  your  eyes  are  very  blue. 

And  your  hose; 
And  your  brow  is  like  the  snow, 
And   the   various   things    you   know. 

Goodness   knows. 


Ad  Chloe,  M.A.  185 

And   the   rose-flush   on   your   cheek, 
And  your  Algebra  and  Greek 

Perfect  are; 
And  that  loving  lustrous  eye 
Kecognizes  in   the  sky 

Every  star. 

You  have  pouting  piquant  lips, 
You  can  doubtless  an  eclipse 

Calculate ; 
But  for  your  cerulean  hue, 
I  had  certainly  from  you 

Met  my  fate. 

If  by  some  arrangement  dual 

I  were  Adams  mixed  with   Whewell, 

Then  some  day 
I,  as  wooer,  perhaps  might  come 
To  so  sweet  an  Artium 

Magistra. 

Mortimer  Collins. 


CHLOE,   M.A. 

AD    AMANTEM     SUAM 

Careless  rhymer,  it  is  true, 
That  my  favourite  colour's  blue: 

But  am  I 
To  be  made  a  victim,  sir, 
If  to  puddings  I  prefer 

Cambridge  ;r? 

If  with  giddier  girls  I  play 
Croquet  through  the  summer  day 

On   the  turf, 
Then  at  night  (His  no  great  boon) 
Let  me  study  how  the  moon 
Sways   the   surf. 


186  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Tennyson's  idyllic  verse 
Surely  suits  me  none  the  worse 

If  I  seek 
Old  Sicilian  birds  and  bees — 
Music  of  sweet  Sophocles — 
Golden  Greek. 


You  have  said  my  eyes  are  blue ; 
There  may  be  a  fairer  hue, 

Perhaps — and  yet 
It  is  surely  not  a  sin 
If  I  keep  my  secrets  in 

Violet. 


Mortimer  Collins. 


THE  FAIR  MILLINGER 
By  the  Watertown  Horse-Car  Conductor 

It  was  a  millinger  most  gay, 

As  sat  within   her  shop; 
A  student  came  along  that  way, 

And  in  he  straight  did  pop. 
Clean  shaven  he,  of  massive  mould, 

He  thought  his  looks  was  killing  her; 
So  lots  of  stuff  to  him  she  sold: 

"  Thanks !  "  says  the  millinger. 


He  loafed  around  and  seemed  to  try 

On   all  things  to  converse; 
The  millinger  did  mind  her  eye. 

But  also  mound  his  purse. 
He  tried,  then,  with  his  flattering  tongue, 

With  nonsense  to  be  filling  her; 
But  she  was  sharp,  though  she  was  young; 

"Thanks,"  said  the  millinger. 


The   Fair  Millinger  187 

He  fsked  her  to  the  theatre, 

They  got  into  my  car; 
Our  steeds  were  tired,  could  hardly  stir. 

He   thought  the  way  not  far. 
A  pretty  pict-i-ure  she  made, 

No  doctors  had  been  pilling  her; 
Fairly  the  fair  one's  fare  he  paid: 

"  Thanks !  "  said  the  millinger. 

When  we  arrived  in  Bowdoin  Square, 

A  female  to  them  ran; 
Then  says  that  millinger  so  fair: 

"  O,  thank  you,  Mary  Ann ! 
She's  going  with  us,  she  is,"  says  she, 

"  She  only  is   fulfilling  her 
Duty  in   looking   after  me: 

Thanks ! "   said  that  millinger. 

"  Why,"  says  that  student  chap  to  her, 

"  I've  but  two  seats  to  hand." 
*'  Too  bad,"  replied  that  millinger, 

"  Then  you  will  have  to  stand." 
"  I  won't  stand  this,"  says  he,   "  I  own 

The  joke  which  you've  been  drilling  her; 
Here,  take  the  seats  and  go  alone !  " 

"  Thanks !  "  says  the  millinger. 

That  ere  much-taken-down  young  man 

Stepped  back  into  my  car. 
We  got  fresh  horses,  off  they  ran; 

He  thought  the  distance  far. 
And  now  she  is  my  better  half. 

And   oft,  when   coo-and-billing  her, 
I  think  about  that  chap  and  laugh: 
"  Thanks !  "  says  my  millinger. 

Fred  W.  Loring. 


188  The  Eternal  Feminine 


TWO  FISHERS 

One  morning  when  Spring  was  in  her  teens — 

A  morn  to  a  poet's  wishing, 
All  tinted  in  delicate  pinks  and  greens — 

Miss   Bessie   and   I   went  fishing. 

I  in  my  rough  and  easy  clothe"^, 

With  my  face  at  the  sun-tan's  mercy; 

She  with  her  hat  tipped  down  to  her  nose. 
And  her  nose  tipped — vice  versa. 

I  with  my  rod,  my  reel,  and  my  hooks. 
And  a  hamper  for  lunching  recesses; 

She  with  the  bait  of  her  comely  looks, 
And  the  seine   of  her  golden    tresses. 

So  we  sat  us  down  on  the  sunny  dike, 

Where  the  white  pond-lilies  teeter. 
And  I  went  to  fishing  like  quaint  old  Ike, 

And   she  like   Simon   Peter. 

All  the  noon  I  lay  in  the  light  of  her  eyes. 

And  dreamily  watched  and  waited, 
But  the  fish  were  cunning  and  would  not  rise, 

And  the  baiter  alone  was  baited. 

And  when  the  time  of  departure  came, 

My  bag  hung  flat  as   a  flounder; 
But  Bessie  had  neatly  hooked  her  game — 

A  hundred-and-fifty-pounder. 

Unknown. 


MAUD 

Nay,  I   cannot  come   into   the  garden   just  now, 

Tho'  it  vexes  me»  much  to  refuse : 
But  T  must  have  the  next  set  of  waltzes,  T  vow, 

With  Lieutenant  de  Boots  of  the  Blues. 


Are  Women  Fair?  189 

I  am  sure  you'll  be  heartily  pleas'd  when  you  hear 
That  our  ball  has  been  quite  a  success. 

As  for  me — I've  been  looking  a  monster,  my  dear, 
In  that  old-fashion'd  guy  of   a  dress. 

You  had  better  at  once  hurry  home,  dear,  to  bed; 

It  is  getting   so   dreadfully   late. 
You  may  catch  the  bronchitis  or  cold  in  the  head 

If  you  linger  so  long  at  our  gate. 

Don't  be  obstinate,  Alfy;  come,  take  my  advice — 
For  I  know  you're  in  want  of  repose: 

Take  a  basin  of  gruel   (you'll  find  it  so  nice), 
And  remember  to  tallow  your  nose. 

No,  I  tell  you  I  can't  and  I  shan't  get  away, 
For  De  Boots  has  implor'd  me  to  sing. 

As  to  you — if  you  like  it,  of  course  you  can  stay. 
You  were  always  an  obstinate  thing. 

If  you  feel  it  a  pleasure  to  talk  to  the  flow'rs 

About  "  babble  and  revel  and  wine," 
When  you  might  have  been   snoring  for  two  or 
three  hours. 
Why,   it's  not  the  least  business  of   mine. 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


ARE  WOMEN  FAIR? 

"Are  women  fair?"     Ay,  wondrous  fair  to  see,  too. 
"Are  women  sweet?"    Yea,  passing  sweet  they  be,  too. 
Most  fair  and  sweet  to  them  that  only  love  them; 
Chaste  and  discreet  to  all  save  them  that  prove  them. 

"Are  women  wise?"    Not  wise,  but  they  be  witty; 
"Are  women  witty?"    Yea,  the  more  the  pity; 
They  are  so  witty,  and  in  wit  so  wily, 
Though  ye  be  ne'er  so  wise,  they  will  beguile  ye. 


190  The  Eternal  Feminme 

"Are  women  fools?"    Not  fools,  but  fondlings  many; 
"  Can  women  fond  be  faithful  unto  any  ? " 
When  snow-white  swans  do  turn  to  colour  sable, 
Then  women  fond  will  be  both  firm  and  stable. 

"Are  women  saints?"    No  saints,  nor  yet  no  devils; 
"  Are  women  good  ? "     Not  good,  but  needful  evils. 
So  Angel-like,  that  devils  I  do  not  doubt  them, 
So  needful  evils  that  few  can  live  without  them. 

"  Are  women  proud? "    Ay !  passing  proud,  an  praise  them. 
"Are  women  kind?"    Ay!  wondrous  kind,  an  please  them. 
Or  so  imperious,  no  man   can  endure  them, 
Or  so  kind-hearted,  any  may  procure  them. 

Francis  Davison. 

THE  PLAIDIE 

Upon  ane   stormy   Sunday, 

Coming  adoon  the  lane, 
Were  a  score  of  bonnie  lassies — 

And  the  sweetest  I  maintain 
Was    Caddie, 
That  I  took  unneath  my  plaidie. 

To  shield  her  from  the  rain. 

She  said  that  the  daisies  blushed 

For  the  kiss  that  I  had  ta'en; 
I  wadna  hae  thought  the  lassie 

Wad  sae  of  a  kiss  complain: 
"Now,  laddie! 
I  winna  stay  under  your  plaidie, 

If  I  gang  hame  in  the  rain!" 

But,  on  an  after  Sunday, 

When  cloud  there  was  not  ane. 
This  selfsame  winsome  lassie 

(We  chanced  to  meet  in  the  lane). 
Said,  "Laddie, 
Why  dinna  ye  wear  your  plaidie? 
Wha  kens  but  it  may  rain  ? " 

Charles  Sibley. 


\ 


Lord  Guy  191 

FEMININE  ARITHMETIC 

LAURA 

On  me  he  shall  ne'er  put  a  ring, 

So,  mamma,  'tis  in  vain  to  take  trouble — 

For  I  was  but  eighteen   in  spring 
While  his   age  exactly   is   double. 

MAMMA 

He's  but  in  his  thirty-sixth  year, 

Tall,  handsome,  good-natured  and  witty. 

And  should  you  refuse  him,  my  dear, 
May  you  die  an  old  maid  without  pity! 

LAURA 

His  figure,  T  grant  you,  will  pass, 

And  at  present  he's  young  .enough  plenty; 

But  when  I  am  sixty,  alas! 
Will  not  he  be  a  hundred  and  twenty? 

Charles  Graham  Halpine. 


LORD  GUY 

When  swallows  Northward   flew 
Forth  from  his  home  did  fare 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

Swore  he  to  cross  the  brine. 
Pausing  not,  night  nor  day. 
That  he  might  Paynims  slay 
In  Palestine. 

Half  a  league  on  his  way 
Met  he  a   shepherdess 
Beaming   with   loveliness — 
Fair  as  Young  Day. 


192  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Gazed  he  in  eyes  of  blue — 
Saw  love  in  hiding  there 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

"Let  the  foul  Paynim  wait!" 
Plead  Love,  "  and  stay  with  me. 
Cruel  and  cold  the  sea — 
Here's   brighter  fate." 

When  swallows   Southward  flew 
Back  to  his  home  did  fare 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

Led  he  his  charger  gay 
Bearing  a  shepherdess 
Beaming  with   happiness — 
Fair  -as   Young  Day. 

White  lambs,   be-ribboned  blue — 
Tends  now   with  anxious  care, 
Guy,  Lord  of  Lanturlaire 
And  Lanturlu. 

George  F.  Warren, 


SARY  "PIXES  UP"  THINGS 

Oh,  yes,  we've  be'n  fixin'  up  some  sence  we  sold  that  piece 

o'  groun' 
Per  a  place  to  put  a  golf-lynx  to  them  crazy  dudes  from 

town. 
(Anyway,  they  laughed  like  crazy  when  I  had  it  specified, 
Ef  they  put  a  golf-lynx  on  it,  thet  they'd  haf  to  keep  him 

tied.) 
But  they  paid  the  price  all  reg'lar,  an'  then  Sary  says 

to  me, 
"Now  we're  goin'  to  fix  the  parlor  up,  an'  settin'-room," 

says  she. 


I 


Sarj  "  Fixes  Up  "  Things  193 

Fer  she  'lowed  she'd  been  a-scrimpin'  an'  a-scrapin'   all 

her  life. 
An'  she  meant  fer  once  to  have  things  good  as  Cousin 

Ed'ard's  wife. 

Well,   we   went   down   to   the   city,   an'   she   bought   the 

blamedest  mess; 
An'  them  clerks  there  must  'a'  took  her  fer  a'  Asteroid, 

I  guess; 
Fer  they  showed  her  fancy  bureaus  which  they  said  was 

shiffoneers. 
An'  some  more  they  said  was  dressers,  an'  some  curtains 

called  porteers. 
An'  she  looked  at  that  there  furnicher,  an'  felt  them  cur- 
tains' heft; 
Then  she  sailed  in  like  a  cyclone  an'  she  bought  'em  right 

an'  left; 
An'  she  picked  a  Bress'ls  carpet  thet  was  flowered  like 

Cousin  Ed's, 
But   she   d  rawed   the  line   com-pletely   when  we   got   to 

foldin'-beds. 

Course,  she  said,  't  'u'd  make  the  parlor  lots  more  roomier, 

she  s'posed; 
But  she  'lowed  she'd  have  a  bedstid  thet  was  shore  to  stay 

un-closed ; 
An'  she  stopped  right  there  an'  told  us  sev'ral  tales  of 

folks  she'd  read 
Bein'  overtook  in  slumber  by  the  "fatal  foldin'-bed." 
"Not  ef  it  wuz  set  in  di'mon's!    Nary  foldin'-bed  fer  me! 
I  ain't  goin'  to  start  fer  glory  in  a  rabbit-trap ! "  says  she. 
"When  the  time  comes  Fll  be  ready  an'  a-waitin';  but  ez 

yet, 

I  shan't  go  to  sleep  a-thinkin'  that  Fve  got  the  triggers 
set." 

Well,  sir,  shore  as  yo'  're  a-livin',  after  all  thet  Sary  said, 
'Fore   we   started   home   that  evenin'   she   hed   bought   a 

foldin'-bed ; 
An'  she's  put  it  in  the  parlor,  where  it  adds  a  heap  o'  style ; 
An'  we're  sleepin'   in  the   settin'-room   at  present  fer   a 

while. 


194i  The  Eternal  Feminine 

Sary  still  maintains  it's  han'some,  "  an'  them  city  folks 

'11  see 
That  we're  posted  on  the  fashions  when  they  visit  us," 

says  she; 
But  it  plagues  her  some  to  tell  her,  ef  it  ain't  no  other 

use. 
We  can  set  it  fer  the  golf -lynx  ef  he  ever  sh'u'd  get  loose. 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine, 


THE  CONSTANT  CANNIBAL  MAIDEN 

Far,  oh,  far  is  the  Mango  island, 
Far,  oh,  far  is  the  tropical  sea — 

Palms  a-slant  and  the  hills  a-smile,  and 
A  cannibal  maiden  a-waiting  for  me. 


Fve  been  deceived  by  a  damsel  Spanish, 
And  Indian  maidens  both  red  and  brown, 

A  black-eyed  Turk  and  a  blue-eyed  Danish, 
And  a  Puritan  lassie  of  Salem  town. 


For  the  Puritan  Prue  she  sets  in  the  offing, 
A-castin'  'er  eyes  at  a  tall  marine. 

And  the  Spanish  minx  is  the  wust  at  scoffing 
Of  all  of  the  wimming  I  ever  seen. 


But  the  cannibal  maid  is  a  simple  creetur. 
With  a  habit  of  gazin'  over  the  sea, 

A-hopin'  in  vain  for  the  day  I'll  meet  'er, 
And  constant  and  faithful  a-yearnin'  for  me. 


Me  Turkish  sweetheart  she  played  me  double — 
Eloped  with  the  Sultan  Harum  In-Deed, 

And  the  Danish  damsel  she  made  me  trouble 
When  she  ups  and  married  an  oblong  Swede. 


Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Sniffles  195 

But  there's  truth  in  the  heart  of  the  maid  o' 
Mango, 
Though  her  cheeks  is  black  like  the  kiln- 
baked  cork, 
As  she  sets  in  the  shade  o'  the  whingo-whango, 
A-waitin'  for  me — with  a  knife  and  fork. 

Wallace  Irwin. 


WIDOW  BEDOTT  TO  ELDER  SNIFFLES 

O  REVEREND  sir,  I  do  declare 

It  drives  me  most  to  frenzy, 
To  think  of  you  a-lying  there 

Down  sick  with  influenzy. 

A  body'd  thought  it  was  enough 
To  mourn   your  wife's  departer. 

Without  sich  trouble  as  this  ere 
To  come  a-follerin'  arter. 

But  sickness   and  affliction 

Are  sent  by   a  wise   creation, 
And   always    ought   to   be   underwent 

By  patience  and  resignation. 

O,   I  could  to  your  bedside  fly, 

And  wipe  your  weeping  eyes. 
And  do  my  best  to  cure  you  up. 

If  'twouldn't  create  surprise. 

It^s  a  world  of  trouble  we  tarry  in. 

But,  Elder,  don't  despair; 
That  you  may  soon  be  movin'  again 

Is  constantly  my  prayer. 

Both  sick  and  well,  you  may  depend 

You'll  never  be  forgot 
By  your  faithful  and  affectionate  friend, 
Priscilla  Pool   Bedott. 

Frances  Miriam  Whitcher. 


196  The  Eternal  Feminine 


UNDER   THE   MISTLETOE 

She  stood  beneath  the  mistletoe 

That  hung  above  the  door, 
Quite  conscious  of  the  sprig  above, 

Revered  by  maids  of  yore. 
A  timid  longing  filled  her  heart; 

Her  pulses  throbbed  with  heat; 
He  sprang  to  where  the  fair  girl  stood. 
"May  I — just  one — my  sweet?" 
He  asked  his  love,  who  tossed  her  head, 
"  Just  do  it — if — you  dare !  "  she  said. 

He  sat  before  the  fireplace 

Down  at  the  club  that  night. 
"  She  loves  me  not,"  he  hotly  said, 

"Therefore  she  did  but  right!" 
She  sat  alone  within  her  room, 

And  with  her  finger-tips 
She  held  his  picture  to  her  heart, 

Then  pressed   it- to  her  lips. 
"  My  loved  one !  "  sobbed  she,  "  if  youT-cared 
You  surely  would  have — would  have — dared." 

George  Francis  Shults. 


THE  BROKEN  PITCHER 

It  was  a  Moorish  maiden  was  sitting  by  a  well. 

And  what  the  maiden  thought  of  I  cannot,  cannot  tell, 

When  by  there  rode  a  valiant  knight  from  the  town  of 

Oviedo — 
Alphonso  Guzman  was  he  hight,  the  Count  of  Desparedo. 

"  Oh,  maiden,  Moorish  maiden !  why  sitt'st  thou  by  the 

spring  ? 
Say,  dost  thou  seek  a  lover,  or  any  other  thing? 
Why  gazest  thou  upon  me,  with  eyes  so  large  and  wide, 
And  wherefore  doth  the  pitcher  lie  broken  by  thy  side  ? " 


The  Broken  Pitcher  197 

"  I  do  not  seek  a  lover,  thou  Christian  knight  so  gay, 
Because  an   article  like  that  hath  never  come  my  way; 
And  vrhy  I  gaze  upon  you,  I  cannot,  cannot  tell, 
Except  that  in  your  iron  hose  you  look  uncommon  swell. 

"  My  pitcher  it  is  broken,  and  this  the  reason  is, — 
A  shepherd  came  behind  me,  and  tried  to  snatch  a  kiss; 
I  would  not  stand  his  nonsense,  so  ne'er  a  word  I  spoke. 
But  scored  him  on  the  costard,  and  so  the  jug  was  broke. 

"My  uncle,  the  Alcayde,  he  waits  for  me  at  home, 
And  will  not  take  his  tumbler  until  Zorayda  come. 
I  cannot  bring  him  water — the  pitcher  is  in  pieces — 
And  so  I'm  sure  to  catch  it,  'cos  he  wallops  all  his  nieces." 

"  Oh,  maiden,  Moorish  maiden!  wilt  thou  be  ruled  by  me! 
So  wipe  thine  eyes  and  rosy  lips,  and  give  me  kisses  three; 
And  I'll  give  thee  my  helmet,  thou  kind  and  courteous 

lady. 
To  carry  home  the  water  to  thy  uncle,  the  Alcayde." 

He  lighted  down  from  off  his  steed — he  tied  him  to  a 

tree — 
He  bowed  him  to  the  maiden,  and  took  his  kisses  three: 
"  To  wrong  thee,  sweet  Zorayda,  I  swear  would  be  a  sin ! " 
He  knelt  him  at  the  fountain,  and  he  dipped  his  hel- 
met in.  # 

Up  rose  the  Moorish  maiden — ^behind  the  knight  she  steals. 

And  caught  Alphonso  Guzman  up  tightly  by  the  heels; 

She  tipped  him  in,  and  held  him  down  beneath  the  bub- 
bling water, — 

"Now,  take  thou  that  for  venturing  to  kiss  Al  Hamet's 
daughter! " 

A  Christian  maid  is  weeping  in  Jthe  town  of  Oviedo; 
She  waits  the  coming  of  her  love,  the  Count  of  Desparedo. 
I  pray  you  all  in  charity,  that  you  will  never  tell, 
How  he  met  the  Moorish  maiden  beside  the  lonely  well. 

William  E.  Aytoun. 


198  The  Eternal  Feminine 


GIFTS  RETURNED 

"You  must  give  back,"  her  mother  said, 

To  a  poor  sobbing  little  maid, 
"  All  the  young  man  has  given  you, 
Hard  as  it  now  may  seem  to  do." 
"  'Tis  done  already,  mother  dear !  " 
Said  the  sweet  girl,  "  So  never  fear." 

Mother.    Are  you  quite  certain?     Come,   recount 
(There  was  not  much)   the  whole  amount. 

Girl.    The  locket;  the  kid  gloves. 

Mother.  Go  on. 

Girl.    Of  the  kid  gloves  I  found  but  one. 

Mother.    Never  mind   that.     What   else?     Proceed. 
You  gave  back  all  his  trash? 

Girl.  Indeed. 

Mother.    And  was  there  nothing  you  would  saye? 

Girl.    Everything  I  could  give  I  gave. 

Mother,    To  the  last  tittle? 

Girl.  Even  to  that. 

Mother,   Freely? 

Girl.  My  heart  went  pit-a-pat 

At  giving  up  ...  ah  me!  ah  me! 
I  cry  so  I  can  hardly  see  .  .  .  ,  '^^  ^ 

All  the  fond  looks  and  words  that  past, 
And  all  the  kisses,  to  the  last. 

Walter  Savage  Landor. 


Ill 

LOVE  AND  COURTSHIP 

NOUREDDIN,  THE  SON  OF  THE  SHAH 

There  once  was  a  Shah  had  a  second  son 
Who  was  very  unlike  his  elder  one, 
For  he  went  about  on  his  own  affairs, 
And  scorned  the  mosque  and  the  daily  prayers; 
When  his  sire  frowned  fierce,  then  he  cried,  "Ha,  ha  I" 
Noureddin,  the  son  of  the  Shah. 


But  worst  of  all  of  the  pranks  he  played 
Was  to  fall  in  love  with  a  Christian   maid, — 
An  Armenian  maid  who  wore  no  veil, 
Nor  behind  a  lattice  grew  thin  and  pale; 
At  his  sire's  dark  threats  laughed  the  youth,  "Ha,  ha  I" 
-Noureddin,   the  son  of  the   Shah. 


"I  will  shut  him  close  in  an  iron  cage," 
The  monarch  said,  in  a  fuming  rage; 
But  the  prince  slipped  out  by  a  postern   door. 
And  away  to  the  mountains  his  loved  one  bore; 
Loud  his  glee  rang  back  on  the  winds,  "Ha,  ha!" 
Noureddin,  the  son  of  the  Shah. 


^d  still  in  the  town  of  Teheran,  • 

len  a  youth  and  a  maid  adopt  this  plan, — 
All  frowns  and  threats  with  a  laugh  defy, 
And  away  from  the  mosques  to  the  mountains  fly, — 
Folk  meet  and  greet  with   a  gay  "Ha,  ha!*' 
Noureddin,  the  son  of  the  Shah. 

Clinton  ScoUard. 

ig9> 


200  Love  and  Courtship 


THE  USUAL  WAY 


There  was  once  a  little  man,  and  his  rod  and  line  he  took. 
For  he  said,  "  I'll  go  a-fishing  in  the  neighboring  brook." 
And  it  chanced  a  little  maiden  was  walking  out  that  day, 
And  they  met — in  the  usual  way. 


Then  he  sat  him  down  beside  her,  and  an  hour  or  two 

went  by. 
But  still  upon  the  grassy  brink  his  rod  and  line  did  lie; 
"I  thought,"  she  shyly  whispered,  "you'd  be  fishing  all 

the  day!" 

And  he  was — in   the  usual   way. 


So  he  gravely  took  his  rod  in  hand,  and  threw  the  line 

about. 
But  the  fish  perceived  distinctly  that  he  was  not  looking 

out; 
And  he  said,  "  Sweetheart,  I  love  you ! "  but  she  said  she 

could  not  stay: 

But  she  did — in  the  usual  way. 


Then   the   stars   came  out  above  them,   and   she  gave   a 
little   sigh. 

As  they  watched  the  silver  ripples,  like  the  moments,  run- 
ning by; 

"  We  must  say  good-by,"  she  whispered,  by  the  alders  old 
and   gray. 

And  they  did — in  the  usual  way. 

4 

And  day  by  day  beside  the  stream  they  wandered  to  and 

fro, 
And  day  by  day  the  fishes  swam  securely  down  below; 
Till  this  little  story  ended,  as  such  little  stories  may. 
Very  much — in  the  usual  way. 


The  Way  to  Arcady  201 

And  now  that  they  are  married,  do  they  always  bill  and 

coo? 
Do  they  never  fret  and  quarrel  as  other  couples  do? 
Does  he  cherish  her  and  love  her?     Does  she  honor  and 
obey? 

Well — they  do — in  the  usual  way. 

Frederic  E.   Weatherly. 


THE  WAY  TO  ARCADY 

Oh,  what's   the  way   to  Arcady, 

To  Arcady,   to  Arcady; 
Oh,  what's   the  way   to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  leaves  are  merry? 


Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady? 

The   spring  is   rustling   in  the  tree — 

The  tree  the  wind  is  blowing  through — 

It  sets  the  blossoms  flickering  white. 
I  knew  not  skies  could  burn  so  blue 

Nor  any  breezes  blow  so  light. 
They  blow  an   old-time  way  for  me. 
Across  the  world  to  Arcady. 


Oh,  what^s  the  way  to  Arcady? 
Sir  Poet,  with  the  rusty  coat. 
Quit  mocking  of  the  song-bird's  note. 
How  have  you  heart  for  any  tune, 
You  with  the  wayworn   russet   shoon? 
Your   scrip,    a-swinging   by   your   side. 
Gapes  with  a  gaunt  mouth  hungry-wide. 
ril  brim  it  well  with  pieces  red, 
If  you  will  tell  the  way  to  tread. 


Oh,  I  am  hound  for  Arcady, 

And  if  you  hut  Tceep  pace  with  me 

You  tread  the  way  to  Arcady. 


202  Love  and  Courtship 

And  where  away  lies  Arcady, 

And  how  long  yet  may  the  journey  be? 


Ah,  thab  (quoth  he)  /  do  not  know — 
Across  the  clover  and  the  snow — 
Across  the  frost,  across  the  flowers — 
Through  summer  seconds  and  winter  hours 
I've  trod  the  way  my  whole  life  long. 

And  know  not  now  where  it  may  he; 
My  guide  is  hut  the  stir  to  song, 
Tlvat  tells  me  I  cannot  go  wrong. 

Or  clear  or  dark  the  pathway  he 

Upon  the  road  to  Arcady. 

But  how  shall  I  do  who  cannot  sing? 

I  was  wont  to  sing,  once  on  a  time — 
There  is  never  an  echo  now  to  ring 

Remembrance  back  to  the  trick   of  rhyme. 

^Tis  strange  you  cannot  sing  (quoth  he), 
The  folk  all  sing  in  Arcady. 

But  how  may  he  find  Arcady 
Who  hath  not  youth  nor  melody? 

What,  know  you  not,  old  man  (quoth  he) — 
Your  hair  is  white,  your  face  is  wise — 
That  Love  must  kiss  that  Mortal's  eyes 
^  Who  hopes  to  see  fair  Arcady? 

No  gold  can  buy  you  entrance  there; 

But  beggared  Love  may  go  all  hare — 

No  wisdom  won  with  weariness; 

But  Love  goes  in  with  Folly's  dress — 

No  fame  that  wit  could  ever  win; 

But  only  Love  may  lead  Love  in 
To  Arcady,  to  Arcady. 

Ah,-  woe  is  me,  through  all  my  days 
Wisdom  and  wealth  T  both  have  got, 

And  fame  and  name,  and  great  men's  praise; 
But  Love,  ah.  Love!  I  have  it  not. 


The  Way  to  Arcady  203 

There  was  a  time,  when  life  was  new— 

But  far  away,  and  half  forgot — 
I  only  know  her  eyes  were  blue ; 

But  Love — I  fear  I  knew  it  not. 
We  did  not  wed,  for  lack  of  gold. 
And  she  is  dead,  and  I  am  old. 
All  things  have  come  since  then  to  me, 
Save  Love,  ah.  Love!  and  Arcady. 
Ah,  Llieii  I  fear  we  part  (quoth  he). 
My  way's  for  Love  and  Arcady. 

But  you,  you  fare  alone,  like  me; 

The  gray  is  likewise  in  your  hair. 

What  love  have  you  to  lead  you  there, 
To  Arcady,  to  Arcady? 

Ally  no,  not  lonely  do  I  fare; 

My  true  companion's  Memory. 
With  Love  he  fills  the  Spring-time  air; 

With  Love  he  clothes  the  Winter  tree. 
Oh,  past  this  poor  horizon's  hound 

My  song  goes  straight  to  one  who  stands — 
Her  face  all  gladdening  at  the  sound — 

To  lead  me  to  the  Spring-green  lands. 

To  wander  with  enlacing  hands. 
The  songs  within  my  hreast  that  stir 
Are  all  of  her,  are  all  of  her. 
My  maid  is  dead  long  years  (quoth  he), 
She  waits  for  me  in  Arcady. 

Oh,  yon*s  the  way  to  Arcady, 

To  Arcady,  to  Arcady; 
Oh,  yon' 8  the  way  to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  leaves  are  merry. 

H.  C.  Bunner. 


204  Love  and  Courtship 


MY  LOVE  AND  MY  HEAKT 

Oh,  the  days  were  ever  shiny 

When  I  ran  to  meet  my  love ; 
When  I  press'd  her  hand  so  tiny 

Through  her  tiny  tiny  glove. 
Was  I  very  deeply  smitten? 

Oh,  I  loved  like  anything! 
But  my  love  she  is  a  kitten, 

And  my  heart's  a  ball  of  string. 


She  was  pleasingly  poetic, 

And  she  loved  my  little  rhymes; 
For  our  tastes  were  sympathetic. 

In  the  old  and  happy  times. 
Oh,  the  ballads  I  have  written. 

And  have  taught  my  love  to  sing! 
But  my  love  she  is  a  kitten. 

And  my  heart's  a  ball  of  string. 


Would  she  listen  to  my  offer, 

On  my  knees  I  would  impart 
A  sincere  and  ready  proffer 

Of  my  hand  and  of  my  heart. 
And  below  her  dainty  mitten 

I  would  fix  a  wedding  ring — 
But  my  love  she  is  a  kitten. 

And  my  heart's  a  ball  of  string. 

Take  a  warning,  happy  lover. 

From  the  moral  that  I  show ; 
Or  too  late  you  may  discover 

What  I  learn'd  a  month  ago. 
We  are  scratch'd  or  we  are  bitten 

By  the  pets  to  whom  we  cling. 
Oh,  my  love  she  is  a  kitten, 

And  my  heart's  a  ball  of  string. 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


Quite  by  Chance  205 


QUITE  BY  CHANCE 

She  flung  the  parlour  window  wide 

One  eve  of  mid-July, 
And  he,  as  fate  would  have  it  tide, 

That  moment  sauntered  by. 
His  eyes  were  blue  and  hers  were  brown,. 

With  drooping  fringe  of  jet; 
And  he  looked  up  as  she  looked  down. 

And  so  their  glances  met. 

Things  as  strange,  I  dare  to  say. 
Happen  somewhere  every  day. 

A  mile  beyond  the  straggling  street, 

A  quiet  pathway  goes; 
And  lovers  here  are  wont  to  meet. 

As  all  the  country  knows. 
Now  she  one  night  at  half -past  eight 

Had  sought  that  lonely  lane, 
When  he  came  up,  by  will  of  fate. 

And  so  they  met  again. 

Things  as  strange,  I  dare  to  say. 
Happen  somewhere  every  day. 

The  parish  church,  so  old  and  gray,     / 

Is  quite  a  sight  to  see; 
And  he  was  there  at  ten  one  day. 
And   so,   it   chanced,   was   she. 
And  while  they  stood,  with  cheeks  aflame. 

And  neighbours  liked  the  fun. 
In  stole  and  hood  the  parson  came, 
And  made  the  couple  one. 

Things  as  strange,  I  dare  to  say, 
Happen  somewhere  every  day. 

Frederick  Langhridge. 


206  Love  and  Courtship 

THE  NUN 


MONECA  TI  FAI." 

I 

If  you  become  a  nun,  dear, 

A  friar  I  will  be; 
In  any  cell  you  run,  dear. 

Pray  look  behind  for  me. 
The  roses  all  turn  pale,  too; 
The  doves  all  take  the  veil,  too; 

The  blind  will  see  the  show : 
What!  you  become  a  nun,  my  dearl 

I'll  not  believe  it,  no. 


n 

If  you  become  a  nun,  dear, 

The  bishop  Love  will  be; 
The  Cupids  every  one,  dear. 

Will  chaunt  "  We  trust  in  thee  "; 
The  incense  will  go  sighing, 
The  candles  fall  a  dying, 

The  water  turn  to  wine: 
What !  you  go  take  the  vows,  my  dear ! 

You  may — but  they'll  be  mine. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


THE  CHEMIST  TO  HIS  LOVE 

I  LOVE  thee,  Mary,  and  thou  lovest  me— 

Our  mutual  flame  is  like  th'  affinity 

That  doth  exist  between  two  simple  bodies: 

I  am  Potassium  to  thine  Oxygen. 

'Tis  little  that  the  holy  marriage  vow 

Shall  shortly  make  us  one.     That  unity 

Is,  after  all,  but  metaphysical. 

Oh,  would  that  I,  my  Mary,  were  an  acid. 


I 


Categorical  Courtship  207 

A  living  acid;  thou  an  alkali 

Endow'd  with  human  sense,  that,  brought  together, 

We  both  might  coalesce  into  one  salt. 

One  homogeneous  crystal.     Oh,  that  thou 

Wert  Carbon,  and  myself  were  Hydrogen ; 

We  would  unite  to  form  olefiant  gas, 

Or  common  coal,  or  naphtha — would  to  heaven 

That  I  were  Phosphorus,  and  thou  wert  Lime! 

And  we  of  Lime  composed  a  Phosphuret. 

I'd  be  content  to  be  Sulphuric  Acid, 

So  that  thou  might  be  Soda.    In  that  case 

We  should  be  Glauber's  Salt.    Wert  thou  Magnesia 

Instead  we'd  form  the  salt  that's  named  from  Epsom. 

Couldst  thou  Potassa  be,  I  Aqua-fortis, 

Our  happy  union  should  that  compound  form. 

Nitrate  of  Potash — otherwise  Saltpetre. 

And  thus  our  several  natures  sweetly  blent. 

We'd  live  and  love  together,  until  death 

Should  decompose  the  fleshly  tertium  quid. 

Leaving  our  souls  to  all  eternity 

Amalgamated.    Sweet,  thy  name  is  Briggs 

And  mine  is  Johnson.     Wherefore  should  not  we 

Agree  to  form  a  Johnsonate  of  Briggs  ? 

UnknoTvn. 


CATEGORICAL  COURTSHIP 

I  SAT  one  night  beside  a  blue-eyed  girl — 

The  fire  was  out,  and  so,  too,  was  her  mother; 

A  feeble  flame  around  the  lamp  did  curl. 
Making  faint  shadows,  blending  in  each  other : 

'Twas  nearly  twelve  o'clock,  too,  in  November; 

She  had  a  shawl  on,  also,  I  remember. 

Well,  I  had  been  to  see  her  every  night 

For  thirteen  days,  and  had  a  sneaking  notion 

To  pop  the  question,  thinking  all  was  right. 

And  once  or  twice  had  make  an  awkward  motion 

To  take  her  hand,  and  stammer'd,  cough'd,  and  stutter'd, 

But,  somehow,  nothing  to  the  point  had  utter'd. 


208  Love  and  Courtship 

I  thought  this  chance  too  good  now  to  be  lost; 

I  hitched  my  chair  up  pretty  close  beside  her, 
Drew  a  long  breath,  and  then  my  legs  I  cross'd, 

Bent  over,  sighed,  and  for  five  minutes  eyed  her: 
She  looked  as  if  she  knew  what  next  was  coming, 
And  with  her  feet  upon  the  floor  was  drumming. 

I  didn't  know  how  to  begin,  or  where — 

I  couldn't  speak — the  words  were  always  choking; 

I  scarce  could  move — I  seem'd  tied  to  the  chair — 
I  hardly  breathed — 'twas  awfully  provoking! 

The  perspiration  from  each  pore  came  oozing, 

My  heart,  and  brain,  and  limbs  their  power  seem'd  losing. 

At  length  I  saw  a  brindle  tabby  cat 

Walk  purring  up,  inviting  me  to  pat|her; 

An  idea  came,  electric-like  at  that — 

My  doubts,  like  summer  clo4^ds,  began  to  scatter, 

I  seized  on  tabby,  though  a  scratch  she  gave  me. 

And  said,  "  Come,  Puss,  ask  Mary  if  she'll  have  me." 

'Twas  done  at  once — the  murder  now  was  out; 

The  thing  was  all  explain'd  in  half  a  minute. 
She  blush'd,  and,  turning  pussy-cat  about, 

Said,  *'  Pussy,  tell  him  *  yes  '  " ;  her  foot  was  in  it ! 
The  cat  had  thus  saved  me  my  categoiy. 
And  here's  the  catastrophe  of  my  story. 

Unknown. 


LANTY  LEAHY 

Lanty  was  in  love,  you  see. 

With  lovely,  lively  Kosie  Carey; 
But  her  father  can't  agree 

To  give  the  girl  to  Lanty  Leary. 
Up  to  fun,  "  Away  we'll  run," 

Says  she,  "  my  father's  so  contrary. 
Won't  you  follow  me  ?    Won't  you  follow  me  ? " 

"  Faith,  I  will  1 "  says  Lanty  Leary. 


The  Secret  Combination  209 

But  her  father  died  one  day 

(I  hear  'twas  not  by  dhrinkin'  wather) ; 
House  and  land  and  cash,  they  say, 

He  left,  by  will,  to  Kose,  his  daughter; 
House  and  land  and  cash  to  seize, 

Away  she  cut  so  light  and  airy. 
"  Won't  you  follow  me?    Won't  you  follow  me? " 

"  Faith,  I  will !  "  says  Lanty  Leary. 

Rose,  herself,  was  taken  bad; 

The  fayver  worse  each  day  was  growin'; 
"  Lanty,  dear,"  says  she,  "  'tis  sad, 

To  th'  other  world  I'm  surely  goin'. 
You  can't  survive  my  loss,  I  know. 

Nor  long  remain  in  Tipperary. 
Won't  you  follow  me?    Won't  you  follow  me?  " 

"Faith,  I  won't!  "  says  Lanty  Leary. 

Samuel  Lover. 


THE  SECRET  COMBINATION 

Her  heart  she  locked  fast  in  her  breast, 

Away  from  molestation ; 
The  lock  was  warranted  the  best — 

A  patent  combination. 
Sha  knew  no  simple  lock  and  key 
Would  serve  to  keep  out  Love  and  me. 

But  Love  a  clever  cracksman  is. 

And  cannot  be  resisted; 
He  likes  such  stubborn  jobs  as  this. 

Complex  and  hard  and  twisted. 
And  though  we  worked  a  many  day, 
At  last  we  bore  her  heart  away. 

For  Love  has  learned  full  many  tricks 

In  his  strange  avocation ; 
He  knew  the  figures  were  but  six 

In  this,  her  combination;  . 
Nor  did  we  for  a  minute  rest 
Until  we  had  unlocked  her  breast. 


210  Love  and  Courtship 

First,  then,  wc  turned  the  knob  to  "  Sighs," 
Then  back  to  "  Words  Sincerest," 

Then  "  Gazing  Fondly  in  Her  Eyes," 
Then   "Softly   Murmured   'Dearest;'" 

Then,  next,  "  A  Warm  Embrace  "  we  tried. 

And  at  "  A  Kiss "  the  door  flew  wide. 

Ellis  Parker  Butler. 


FOKTY  YEARS  AFTER 

We  climbed  to  the  top  of  Goat  Point  hill. 

Sweet  Kitty,  my  sweetheart,  and  I; 
And  watched  the  moon  make  stars  on  the  waves, 

And  the  dim  white  ships  go  by, 
While  a  throne  we  made  on  a  rough  stone  wall. 

And  the  king  and  the  queen  were  we; 
And  I  sat  with  my  arm  about  Kitty, 

And  she  with  her  arm  about  me. 


The  water  was  mad  in  the  moonlight. 

And  the  sand  like  gold  where  it  shone, 
And  our  hearts  kept  time  to  its  music. 

As  we  sat  in  the  splendour  alone. 
And  Kitty's  dear  eyes  twinkled  brightly, 

And  Kitty's  brown  hair  blew  so  free. 
While  I  sat  with  my  arm  about  Kitty, 

And  she  with  her  arm  about  me. 


Last  night  we  drove  in  our  carriage. 

To  the  wall  at  the  top  of  the  hill; 
And  though  we're  forty  years  older. 

We're  children  and  sweethearts  still. 
And  we  talked  again  of  that  moonlight 

That  danced  so  mad  on  the  sea. 
When  I  sat  with  my  arm  about  Kitty, 

And  she  with  her  arm  about  me. 


Cupid  211 

The  throne  on  the  wall  was  still  standing, 

But  we  sat  in  the  carriage  last  night, 
For  a  wall  is  too  high  for  old  people 

Whose  foreheads  have  linings  of  white. 
And  Kitty's  waist  measure  is  forty. 

While  mine  is  full  fifty  and  three, 
So  I  can't  get  my  arm  about  Kitty, 

Nor  can  she  get  both  hers  around  me. 

H.  H.  Porter, 


CUPID 

Beauties,  have  ye  seen  this  toy, 
Called  love,  a  little  boy 
Almost  naked,  wanton,  blind. 
Cruel  now,  and  then  as  kind? 
If  he  be  amongst  ye,  say ! 
He  is  Venus'  runaway. 

He  hath  of  marks  about  him  plenty; 
Ye  shall  know  him  among  twenty; 
All  his  body  is  a  fire, 
And  his  breath  a  flame  entire, 
That,  being  shot  like  lightning  in, 
Wounds  the  heart,  but  not  the  skin. 

He  doth  bear  a  golden  bow. 
And  a  quiver,  hanging  low. 
Full  of  arrows,  that  outbrave 
Dian's  shafts,  where,  if  he  have 
Any  head  more  sharp  than  other, 
With  that  first  he  strikes  his  mother. 

Trust  him  not :  his  words,  though  sweet. 

Seldom  with  his  heart  do  meet ; 

All  his  practice  is  deceit. 

Every  gift  is  but  a  bait; 

Not  a  kiss  but  poison  bears. 

And  most  treason  in  his  tears. 


212  Love  and  Courtship 

If  by  these  ye  please  to  know  him, 
Beauties,  be  not  nice,  but  show  him, 
Though  ye  had  a  will  to  hide  him. 
Now,  we  hope,  ye'll  not  abide  him, 
Since  ye  hear  his  falser  play, 
And  that  he's  Venus'  runaway. 

Ben  Jonson. 


PAKIKG-TIME  ANTICIPATED 

I  SHALL  not  ask  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 

If  birds  confabulate  or  no; 

'Tis   clear  that   they   were   always   able 

To  hold  discourse,  at  least  in  fable; 

And  e'en  the  child  who  knows  no  better 

Than  to  interpret,  by  the  letter, 

A  story  of  a  cock  and  bull. 

Must  have  a  most  uncommon  skull. 

It  chanced,  then,  on  a  winter's  day. 

But  warm,  and  bright,  and  calm  as  May, 

The  birds,  conceiving  a  design 

To  forestall  sweet  St.  Valentine, 

In  many  an  orchard,  copse,  and  grove. 

Assembled  on  affairs  of  love. 

And,  with  much  twitter  and  much  chatter, 

Began  to  agitate  the  matter. 

At  length  a  bullfinch,  who  could  boast 

More  years  and  wisdom  than  the  most. 

Entreated,  opening  wide  his  beak, 

A  moment's  liberty  to  speak; 

And,  silence  publicly  enjoin'd, 

Deliver'd  briefly  thus  his  mind: 

"My  friends,  be  cautious  how  ye  treat 

The  subject  upon  which  we  meet; 

I  fear  we  shall  have  winter  yet." 

A  finch,  whose  tongue  knew  no  control. 

With  golden  wing  and  satin  poll, 

A  last  year's  bird,  who  ne'er  had  tried 

What  marriage  means,  thus  pert  replied : 


Paring-Time  Anticipated  213 

"  Methinks  the  gentleman,"  quoth  she, 

"  Opposite  in  the  apple-tree, 

By  his  good-will  would  keep  us  single 

Till  yonder  heaven  and  earth  shall  mingle, 

Or — which  is  likelier  to  befall — 

'Til  death  exterminate  us  all. 

I  marry  without  more  ado. 

My  dear  Dick  Redcap,  what  say  you?" 

Dick  heard,   and   tweedling,   ogling,  bridling, 

Turned  short  'round,  strutting,  and  sidling, 

Attested,  glad,  his  approbation 

Of  an  immediate  conjugation. 

Their  sentiments,  so  well  express'd. 

Influenced  mightily  the  rest; 

All  pair'd,  and  each  pair  built  a  nest. 

But,  though  the  birds  were  thus  in  haste. 

The  leaves  came  on  not  quite  so  fast, 

And  destiny,  that  sometimes  bears 

An  aspect  stern  on  man's  affairs, 

Not  altogether  smiled  on  theirs. 

The  wind,  of  late  breathed  gently  forth. 

Now  shifted  east,  and  east  by  north; 

Bare  trees  and  shrubs  but  ill,  you  know. 

Could  shelter  them  from  rain  or  snow. 

Stepping  into  their  nests,  they  paddled, 

Themselves  were  chill'd,  their  eggs  were  addled. 

Soon  every  father  bird  and  mother 

Grew  quarrelsome,  and  peck'd  each  other, 

Parted  without  the  least  regret, 

Except  that  they  had  ever  met, 

And  leam'd  in  future  to  be  wiser 

Than  to  neglect  a  good  adviser. 


MORAL 

Misses,  the  tale  that  I  relate 

This  lesson  seems  to  carry: 
Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate. 

But  proper  time  to  marry. 

William  Cowper. 


214  Love  and  Courtship 


WHY 


Do  you  know  why  the  rabbits  are  caught  in  the  snare 

Or  the  tabby  cat's  shot  on  the  tiles  ? 
Why  the  tigers  and  lions  creep  out  of  their  lair? 

Why  an  ostrich  will  travel  for  miles  ? 
Do  you  know  why  a  sane  man  will  whimper  and  cry 

And  weep  o'er  a  ribbon  or  glove? 
Why  a  cook  will  put  sugar  for  salt  in  a  pie? 

Do  you  kaow?    Well,  I'll  tell  you — it's  Love. 

H.  P.  Stevens. 


THE  SABINE  FARMER'S  SERENADE 

I 
'TwAS  on  a  windy  night, 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
An  Irish  lad  so  tight. 

All  wind  and  weather  scorning, 
At  Judy  Callaghan's  door. 

Sitting  upon  the  palings, 
His  love-tale  he  did  pour, 

And  this  was  part  of  his  wailings : — 

Only  say 
You'll  he  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Dont  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan, 

II 
Oh!  list  to  what  I  say, 

Charms  you've  got  like  Venus ; 
Own  your  love  you  may, 

There's  but  the  wall  between  us. 
You  He  fast  asleep 

Snug  in  bed  and  snoring; 
Round  the  house  I  creep. 

Your  hard  heart  imploring. 


The  Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade  216 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

Ill 
I've  got  a  pig  and  a  sow, 

I've  got  a  sty  to  sleep  'em 
A  calf  and  a  brindled  cow, 

And  a  cabin  too,  to  keep  'em; 
Sunday  hat  and  coat, 

An  old  grey  mare  to  ride  on. 
Saddle  and  bridle  to  boot, 

Which  you  may  ride  astride  on. 

Only  say 
You'll  he  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

TV 

I've  got  an  acre  of  ground, 

I've  got  it  set  with  praties; 
I've  got  of  'baccy  a  pound, 

I've  got  some  tea  for  the  ladies; 
I've  got  the  ring  to  wed. 

Some  whisky  to  make  us  gaily; 
I've  got  a  feather  bed 

And  a  handsome  new  shillelagh. 

Only  say 
You'll  have  Mr.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 


You've  got  a  charming  eye, 

You've  got  some  spelling  and  reading 
You've  got,  and  so  have  I, 

A  taste  for  genteel  breeding; 
You're  rich,  and  fair,  and  young. 

As  everybody's  knowing; 


216  Love  and  Courtship 

You've  got  a  decent  tongue 

Whene'er  'tis  set  a-going. 

Only  say 
You'll  he  Mrs.  Brallaghanj 

Don't  say  nay. 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

VI 

For  a  wife  till  death 

I  am  willing  to  take  ye; 
But,  och!  I  waste  my  breath, 

The  devil  himself  can't  wake  ye. 
'Tis  just  beginning  to  rain, 

So  I'll  get  under  cover; 
To-morrow  I'll  come  again, 

And  be  your  constant  lover. 

Only  say 
You'll  he  Mrs.  Brallaghan; 

Don't  say  nay, 
Charming  Judy  Callaghan. 

Father  Prout. 


I  HAE  LAID  A  HEKRING  IN  SAUT 

I  HAE  laid  a  herring  in  saut — 
Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  jne,  tell  me  now ; 

I  hae  brew'd  a  forpit  o'  maut, 

And^  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo : 

I  hae  a  calf  that  will  soon  be  a  cow — 
Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now ; 
I  hae  a  fetook,  and  I'll  soon  hae  a  mowe. 
And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo: 

I  hae  a  house  upon  yon  moor — 
Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now ; 

Three  sparrows  may  dance  upon  the  floor. 
And  T  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo : 

I  hae  a  but,  and  I  hae  a  ben — 
Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now ; 


/ 


The  Clown's  Courtship  217 

A  penny  to  keep,  and  a  penny  to  spen', 
And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo : 

I  hae  a  hen  wi'  a  happitie  leg — 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now; 
That  ilka  day  lays  me  an  egg, 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo : 
I  hae  a  cheese  upon  my  skelf— 

Lass,  gin  ye  lo'e  me,  tell  me  now; 
And  soon  wi'  mites  'twill  rin  itself. 

And  I  canna  come  ilka  day  to  woo. 

James  Tytler, 


THE  CLOWN'S  COURTSHIP 

Quoth  John  to  Joan,  will  thou  have  me; 
I  prithee  now,  wilt  ?  and  I'll  marry  thee, 
My  cow,  my  calf,  my  house,  my  rents. 
And  all  my  lands  and  tenements: 

Oh,  say,  my  Joan,  will  not  that  do? 

I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo. 

I've  corn  and  hay  in  the  barn  hardby. 
And  three  fat  hogs  pent  up  in  the  sty, 
I  have  a  mare  and  she  is  coal  black, 
I  ride  on  her  tail  to  save  my  back. 

Then  say,  etc. 

I  have  a  cheese  upon  the  shelf, 
And  I  cannot  eat  it  all  myself; 
I've  three  good  marks  that  lie  in  a  rag, 
In  a  nook  of  the  chimney,  instead  of  a  bag. 

Then  say,  etc. 

To  marry  I  would  have  thy  consent. 
But  faith  I  never  could  compliment; 
I  can  say  nought  but  "  Hoy,  gee  ho !  " 
Words  that  belong  to  the  cart  and  the  plough. 

So  say,  my  Joan,  will  not  that  do, 

I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo. 

UnknoTxm. 


\ 

218  Love  and  Courtship 

OUT  UPON  IT 

Out  upon  it,  I  have  loved 

Three  whole  days  together ; 

And  am  like  to  love  three  more, 
If  it  prove  fair  weather. 

Time  shall  moult  away  his  wings, 
Ere  he  shall  discover 

In  the  whole  wide  world  again 
Such  a  constant  Lover. 


But  the  spite  on't  is,  no  praise 

Is  due  at  all  to  me: 
Love  with  me  had  made  no  stays. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she. 

Had  it  any  been  but  she. 

And  that  very  face, 
There  had  been  at  least  ere  this 

A  dozen  dozen  in  her  place. 

Sir  John  Suckling. 


LOVE  IS  LIKE  A  DIZZINESS 

I  LATELY  lived  in  quiet  case, 

An'  ne'er  wish'd  to  marry,  O ! 
But  when  I  saw  my  Peggy's  face, 

I  felt  a  sad  quandary,  O ! 
Though  wild  as  ony  Athol  deer, 
She  has  trepann'd  me  fairly,  O ! 
Her  cherry  cheeks  an'  een  sae  clear 
Torment  me  late  an'  early  O! 
O,  love,  love,  love! 

Love  is  like  a  dizziness; 
It  winna  let  a  poor  body 
Gang  about  his  biziness! 


I 


Love  is  Like  a  Dizziness  219 

To  tell  my  feats  this  single  week 

Wad  mak  a  daft-like  diary,  O ! 
I  drave  my  cart  out  ow'r  a  dike, 

My  horses  in  a  miry,  O! 
I  wear  my  stockings  white  an'  blue. 

My  love's  sae  fierce  an'  fiery,  O! 
I  drill  the  land  that  I  should  pleugh, 

An'  pleugh  the  drills  entirely,  O I 
O,  love,  love,  love!  etc. 

Ae  morning,  by  the  dawn  o'  day, 

I  rase  to  theek  the  stable,  O! 
I  keust  my  coat,  and  plied  away 

As  fast  as  I  was  able,  0! 
I  wrought  that  morning  out  an'  out, 

As  I'd  been  redding  fire,  O ! 
When  I  had  done  an  look'd  about, 

Gudefaith,  it  was  the  byre,  O ! 
0,  love,  love,  love!  etc. 

Her  wily  glance  I'll  ne'er  forget, 

The  dear,  the  lovely  blinkin  o't 
Has  pierced  me  through  an'  through  the  heart. 

An'  plagues  me  wi'  the  prinking  o't. 
I  tried  to  sing,  I  tried  to  pray, 

I  tried  to  drown't  wi'  drinkin'  o't, 
I  tried  with  sport  to  drive't  away, 

But  ne'er  can  sleep  for  thinkin'  o't. 
O,  love,  love,  love!  etc. 

Nae  man  can  tell  what  pains  I  prove. 

Or  how  severe  my  pliskie,  O ! 
I  swear  I'm  sairer  drunk  wi'  love 

Than  ever  I  was  wi'  whiskey,  O ! 
For  love  has  raked  me  fore  an'  aft, 

I  scarce  can  lift  a  leggie,  O ! 
I  first  grew  dizzy,  then  gaed  daft, 
An'  soon  I'll  dee  for  Peggy,  O ! 
O,  love,  love,  love! 

Love  is  like  a  dizziness; 
It  winna  let  a  poor  body 
Gang  about  his  biziness! 

James  Hogg. 


220  Love  and  Courtship 


THE  KITCHEN  CLOCK 

Knitting  is  the  maid  o'  the  kitchen,  Milly, 
Doing  nothing  sits  the  chore  boy,  Billy: 
"  Seconds  reckoned, 
Seconds  reckoned; 
Every  minute, 
Sixty  in  it. 
Milly,  Billy, 
Billy,  Milly, 
Tick-tock,  tock-tick, 
Nick-knock,  knock-nick, 
Knockety-nick,   nickety-knock," — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Closer  to  the  fire  is  rosy  Milly, 
Every  whit  as  close  and  cosy,  Billy: 
"Time's  a-flying, 
Worth  your  trying; 
Pretty  Milly— 
Kiss  her,  Billy! 
Milly,  Billy 
Billy,  Milly, 
Tick-tock,  tock-tick. 
Now — now,  quick — quick! 
Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock," — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

Something's  happened,  very  red  is  Milly, 
Billy  boy  is  looking  very  silly; 
"  Pretty  misses. 
Plenty  kisses;  ( 

Make  it  twenty. 
Take  a  plenty. 
Billy,  Milly, 
Milly,  Billy, 
Eight— left,  left— right. 
That's  right,  all  right, 
Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock," — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 


Lady  Mine  221 

Weeks  gone,  still  they're  sitting,  Milly,  Billy; 
O,  the  winter  winds  are  wondrous  chilly ! 
"Winter  weather, 
Close  together; 
Wouldn't  tarry, 
Better  marry. 
Milly,  Billy, 
Billy,  Milly, 
Two — one,  one — two, 
Don't  wait,  'twon't  do, 
Knockety-nick,  nickety-knock," — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 


Winters  two  have  gone,  and  where  is  Milly  ? 
Spring  has  come  again,  and  where  is  Billy? 
"  Give  me  credit. 
For  I  did  it; 
Treat  me  kindly. 
Mind  you  wind  me. 
Mister  Billy, 
Mistress  Milly, 
My— 0,  O— my, 
By-by,  by-by, 

Nickety-knock,  cradle  rock," — 
Goes  the  kitchen  clock. 

John  Vance  Cheney. 


LADY  MINE 

Lady  mine,  most  fair  thou  art 

With  youth's  gold  and  white  and  red 

'Tis  a  pity  that  thy  heart 

Is  so  much  harder  than  thy  head. 

This  has  stayed  my  kisses  oft. 

This  from  all  thy  charms  debarr'd. 

That  thy  head  is  strangely  soft, 
While  thy  heart  is  strangely  hard. 


222  Love  and  Courtship 

Nothing  had  kept  us  apart — 
I  had  loved  thee,  I  had  wed — 

Hadst  thou  had  a  softer  heart 
Or  a  harder  head. 


But  I  think  I'll  bear  Love's  smart 
Till  the  wound  has  healed  and  fled, 

Or  thy  head  is  like  thy  heart, 
Or  thy  heart  is  like  thy  head. 


H.  E.  Clarke. 


BALLADE  OF  THE  GOLFER  IN  LOVE 

In  the  "foursome"  some  would  fain 

Find  nepenthe  for  their  woe; 
Following  through  shine  or  rain 

Where  the  "greens"  like  satin  show; 

But  I  vote  such  sport  as  "  slow  " — 
Find  it  rather  glum  and  gruesome; 

With  a  little  maid  I  know 
I  would  play  a  quiet  "  twosome  " ! 

In  the  "  threesome,"  some  maintain. 

Lies  excitement's  gayest  glow — 
Strife  that  mounts  unto  the  brain 

Like  the  sparkling  Veuve  Clicquot; 

My  opinion?    Nay,  not  so! 
Noon  or  eve  or  morning  dewsome 

With  a  little  maid  I  know 
I  would  play  a  quiet  "  twosome  " ! 

Bays  of  glory  some  would  gain 
With  grim  "Bogey"  for  their  foe; 

(He's  a  bogey  who's  not  slain 
Save  one  smite  with  canny  blow!) 
Yet  I  hold  this  tame,  and  though 

My  refrain  seems  trite,  'tis  truesome; 
With  a  little  maid  I  know 

I  would  play  a  quiet  "  twosome  " ! 


Ballade  of  Forgotten  Loves  223 

ENVOY 

Comrades  all  who  golfing  go, 
Happiness — if  you  would  view  some — 

With  a  little  maid  you  know, 
Haste  and  play  a  quiet  "  twosome  "  I 

Clinton  Scollard. 

BALLADE  OF  FOKGOTTEN  LOVES 

Some  poets  sing  of  sweethearts  dead, 

Some  sing  of  true  loves  far  away; 
Some  sing  of  those  that  others  wed. 

And  some  of  idols  turned  to  clay. 

I  sing  a  pensive  roundelay 
To  sweethearts  of  a  doubtful  lot. 

The  passions  vanished  in  a  day — 
The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

For,  as  the  happy  years  have  sped. 

And  golden  dreams  have  changed  to  gray, 
How  oft  the  flame  of  love  was  fed 

By  glance,  or  smile,  from  Maud  or  May, 

When  wayward  Cupid  was  at  play; 
Mere  fancies,  formed  of  who  knows  what. 

But  still  my  debt  I  ne'er  can  pay — 
The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

O  joyous  hours  forever  fled! 

O  sudden  hopes  that  would  not  stay ! 
Held  only  by  the  slender  thread 

Of  memory  that's  all  astray. 

Their  very  names  I  cannot  say. 
Time's  will  is  done,  I  know  them  not; 

But  blessings  on  them  all,  I  pray — 
The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

ENVOI 

Sweetheart,  why  foolish  fears  betray? 

Ours  is  the  one  true  lovers'  knot; 
Note  well  the  burden  of  my  lay — 

The  little  loves  that  I've  forgot. 

Arthur  Grissom. 


IV 
SATIRE 

A  BALLADE  OF  SUICIDE 

The  gallows  in  my  garden,  people  say, 

Is  new  and  neat  and  adequately  tall. 

I  tie  the  noose  on  in  a  knowing  way 

As  one  that  knots  his  necktie  for  a  ball ; 

But  just  as  all  the  neighbours — on  the  wall — 

Are  drawing  a  long  breath  to  shout  "  Hurray ! " 

The  strangest  whim  has  seized  me.  .  .  .  After  all 

I  think  I  will  not  hang  myself  to-day. 


To-morrow  is  the  time  I  get  my  pay — - 
My  uncle's  sword  is  hanging  in  the  hall — 
I  see  a  little  cloud  all  pink  and  grey — 
Perhaps  the  rector's  mother  will  not  call — 
I  fancy  that  I  heard  from  Mr.  Gall 
That  mushrooms  could  be  cooked  another  way- 
I  never  read  the  works  of  Juvenal — 
I  think  I  will  not  hang  myself  to-day. 


The  world  will  have  another  washing  day; 
The  decadents  decay;  the  pedants  pall; 
And  H.  G.  Wells  has  found  that  children  play, 
And  Bernard  Shaw  discovered  that  they  squall; 
Kationalists  are  growing  rational — 
And  through  thick  woods  one  finds  a  stream  astray, 
So  secret  that  the  very  sky  seems  small — 
I  think  I  will  not  hang  myself  to-day. 
224 


Finnigin  to  Flannigan  225 

ENVOI 

Prince,  I  can  hear  the  trump  of  Germinal, 
The  tumbrils  toiling  up  the  terrible  way; 
Even  to-day  your  royal  head  may  fall — 
I  think  I  will  not  hang  myself  to-day. 

G.  K.  Chesterton, 


FINNIGIN  TO  FLANNIGAN 

Superintendent  wuz  Flannigan; 
Boss  av  the  siction  wuz  Finnigin; 
Whiniver  the  kyars  got  offen  the  thrack, 
An'  muddled  up  things  t'  th'  divil  an'  back, 
Finnigin  writ  it  to  Flannigan, 
Afther  the  wrick  wuz  all  on  ag'in; 

That  is,  this  Finnigin 

Repoorted  to  Flannigan.  . 


Whin  Finnigin  furst  writ  to  Flannigan, 
He  writed  tin  pages — did  Finnigin, 
An'  he  tould  jist  how  the  smash  occurred; 
Full  minny  a  tajus,  blunderin'  wurrd 
Did  Finnigin  write  to  Flannigan 
Afther  the  cars  had  gone  on  ag'in. 

That  wuz  how  Finnigin 

Repoorted  to  Flannigan. 


Now  Flannigan  knowed  more  than  Finnigin- 
He'd  more  idjucation,  had  Flannigan; 
An'  it  wore'm  clane  an'  complately  out 
To  tell  what  Finnigin  writ  about 
In  his  writin'  to  Muster  Flannigan. 
So  he  writed  back  to   Finnigin: 
"Don't  do  sich  a  sin  ag'in; 
Make  'em  brief,  Finnigin!" 


226  Satire 

Whin  Finnigin  got  this  from  Flannigan, 

He  blushed  rosy  rid,  did  Finnigin; 

An'  he  said :  "  I'll  gamble  a  whole  month's  pa-ay 

That  it  will  be  minny  an'  minny  a  da-ay 

Befoore  Sup'rintindint — that's  Flannigan — 

Gits  a  whack  at  this  very  same  sin  ag'in. 

From  Finnigin   to   Flannigan 

Repoorts  won't  be  long  ag'in." 


Wan  da-ay,  on  the  sietion   av  Finnigin, 

On  the  road  sup'rintinded  by  Flannigan, 

A  rail  give  way"  on  a  bit  av  a  curve, 

An'  some  kyars  went  off  as  they  made  the  swerve. 

"  There's  nobody  hurted,"  sez  Finnigin, 

"But  repoorts  must  be  made  to  Flannigan." 

An'  he  winked  at  McGorrigan, 

As  married  a  Finnigin. 

He  wuz  shantyin'  thin,  wuz  Finnigin, 

As  minny  a  railroader's  been  ag'in, 

An'  the  shmoky  ol'  lamp  wuz  burnin'  bright 

In  Finnigin's  shanty  all  that  night — 

Bilin'  down  his   repoort,  was  Finnigin! 

An'  he  writed  this  here :  "  Muster  Flannigan : 

Off  ag'in,  on  ag'in, 

Gone   ag'in — Finnigin." 

S.  W.  Gillinan. 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION,  IN  INDIAN  INK 

POTIPHAR    GUBBINS,    C.     E., 

Stands  at  the  top  of  the  tree; 

And  I  muse  in  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that  led 

To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,   C.  E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  Me; 
Each  bridge  that  he  makes  either  buckles  or  breaks, 
And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 


J 


The  V-a-s-e  227 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee; 
And  I  can't  understand  why  you  gave  him  your  hand, 
Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be; 
For  they  bow  and  They  smile  in  an  afifable  style 
Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,   C.  E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 
Of  a  highly  paid  post  which  is  claimed  by  a  host 
Of  seniors — including  Me. 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he. 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well, 
Conomonplace   Potiphar   G.? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  what  Potiphar  is, 
Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me? 

Rudyard  Kipling. 


THE  V-A-S-E 

I*ROM  the  madding  crowd  they  stand  apart. 
The  maidens  four  and  the  Work  of  Art; 

And  none  might  tell  from  sight  alone 
In  which  had  culture  ripest  grown, — 

The  Gotham  Million  fair  to  see. 
The  Philadelphia  Pedigree, 

The  Boston  Mind  of  azure  hue, 

Or  the  soulful  Soul  from  Kalamazoo, — 


228  Satire 

For  all  loved  Art  in  a  seemly  way, 
With  an  earnest  soul  and  a  capital  A. 


Long  they  worshiped;  but  no  one  broke 
The  sacred  stillness,  until  up  spoke 

The  Western  one  from  the  nameless  place. 
Who  blushing  said,  "  What  a  lovely  vace ! " 

Over  three  faces  a  sad  smile  flew. 
And  they  edged  away  from  Kalamazoo. 

But   Gotham's  haughty  soul  was  stirred 
To  crush  the  stranger  with  one  small  word. 

Deftly  hiding  reproof  in  praise. 

She  cries,  " 'Tis,  indeed,  a  lovely  vazel" 

But  brief  her  unworthy  triumph  when 
The  lofty  one  from  the  house  of  Penn, 

With  the  consciousness  of  two  grandpapas. 
Exclaims,  "  It  is  quite  a  lovely  vahs ! " 

And  glances  round  with  an  anxious  thrill. 
Awaiting  the  word  of  Beacon  Hill. 

But  the  Boston  maid  smiles  courteouslee, 
And   gently  murmurs,   "  Oh,  pardon  me ! 

"I  did  not  catch  your  remark,  because 

I  was  so  entranced  with  that  lovely  vaws ! " 

Dies  erit  praegelida 
Sinistra  quum  Bostonia. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche. 


Miniver  Cheevy  229 


MINIVER  CHEEVY 


Miniver  Cheevy,  child  of  scorn, 

Grew  lean  while  he  assailed  the  seasons; 
He  wept  that  he  was  ever  born, 

And  he  had  reasons.  . 


Miniver  loved  the  days  of  old 

When   swords  were  bright  and  steeds  were  prancing; 
The  vision  of  a  warrior  bold 

Would  set  him  dancing. 

Miniver  sighed  for  what  was  not, 

And  dreamed  and  rested  from  his  labors; 

He  dreamed  of  Thebes  and  Camelot 
And  Priam's  neighbors. 

Miniver  mourned  the  ripe  renown 

That  made  so  many  a  name  so   fragrant; 

He  mourned  Romance,  now  on  the  town, 
And  Art,  a  vagrant. 

Miniver  loved  the  Medici, 

Albeit  he  had  never  seen  one; 
He  would  have  sinned  incessantly 

Could  he  have  been  one. 

Miniver  cursed  the  commonplace, 

And  eyed  a  khaki  suit  with  loathing; 
He  missed  the  mediaeval  grace 

Of  iron  clothing. 

Miniver  scorned  the  gold  he  sought. 

But  sore  annoyed  he  was  without  it; 
Miniver  thought  and  thought  and  thought 

And  thought  about  it. 


230  Satire 

Miniver  Cheevy,  bom  too  late, 

Scratched  his  head  and  kept  on  thinking; 

Miniver  coughed,  and  called  it  fate. 
And  kept  on  drinking. 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson. 

THE  KECRUIT 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden; 
"  Bedad,  yer  a  bad  un ! 
Now  turn  out  yer  toes! 
Yer  belt  is  unhookit, 
Yer  cap  is  on  crookit, 
Ye  may  not  be  dhrunk,  ■ 
•But,  be  jabers,  ye  look  it! 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Ye  monkey-faced  divil,  I'll  jolly  ye  through! 
Wan — two ! — 
Time !     Mark ! 
Ye  march  like  the  aigle  in  Cintheral  Parrk ! " 

Sez   Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden: 
"  A  saint  it  ud  sadden 
To  dhrill  such  a  mug! 
Eyes  front! — ^ye  baboon,  ye! — 
Chin  up! — ye  gossoon,  ye! 
Ye've  jaws  like  a  goat — 
Halt!  ye  leather-lipped  loon,  ye! 
Wan — two! 
Wan — ^two ! 
Ye  whiskered  orang-outang,  I'll  fix  you ! 
Wan — two ! — 
Time!     Mark! 
YeVe  eyes  like  a  bat! — can  ye  see  in  the  dark?" 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden: 
"  Yer  figger  wants  padd'n' — 
Sure,  man,  yeVe  no  shape! 
Behind  ye  yer  shoulders 
Stick  out  like  two  boulders; 


The  Recruit  231 

Yer  shins  is  as  thin 
As  a  pair  of  pen-holders!  ^ 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Yer  belly  belongs  on  yer  back,  ye  Jew! 
Wan — two ! — 
Time!     Mark! 
I'm  dhry  as  a  dog — I  can't  shpake  but  I  bark  I " 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden: 
"  Me  heart  it  ud  gladden 
To  blacken   your  eye. 
Ye're  gettin'  too  bold,  ye 
Compel  me  to  scold  ye, — 
'Tis  halt!  that  I  say,— 
Will  ye  heed  what  I  told  ye? 
Wan — two ! 
Wan — two ! 
Be  jabers,  I'm  dhryer  than  Brian  Boru! 
Wan— two ! — 
Time!     Mark! 
What's  wur-ruk  for  chickens  is  sport  for  the  lark ! " 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to  Private  McFadden: 
"  I'll  not  stay  a  gaddin', 
Wid  dagoes  like  you! 
I'll  travel  no  farther, 
I'm  dyin'  for — wather; — 
Come  on,  if  ye  like, — 
Can  ye  loan  me  a  quather? 
Ya-as,  you — 
What,— two? 
And  ye'll  pay  the  potheen  ?    Ye're  a  daisy !    Whurroo  I 
You'll  do! 
Whist!     Mark! 
The  Rigiment's  flattered  to  own  ye,  me  spark ! " 

Robert  W.  Chambers. 


232  Satire 

OFFICER  BRADY 

THE    MODERN    RECRUIT 

I 

Sez  Alderman  Grady 
To  Officer  Brady: 
"G'wan!     Ye're  no  lady! 

Luk  here  what  ye've  done; 
Ye've  run  in  Red  Hogan, 
YeVe  pulled  Paddy  Grogan, 
Ye've  fanned  Misther  Brogan 

An'  called  him  a  'gun'  ! 


"Way  up  in   Tammany   Hall 
They's  a  gintleman  layin'  f'r    -ou! 

*An'  what/  sez  he,  *  t'  'ell/  sez  he, 

'Does  the  villyun  mane  to  do? 
Lock  up  the  ass  in  his  shtall! 
He'll  rue  the  day  I  rue, 
F'r  he's  pulled  the  dive  that  kapes  me  alive, 
An'  he'll  go  to  the  goats!     Whurroo!'" 


Sez   Alderman   Grady 

To  Officer  Brady: 

"  Ye  pinched  young  Mullady 

F'r  crackin'  a  safe! 
An'  Sinitor  Moran 
An'  Alderman  Doran 
Is   inside,   a-roarin' 

F'r  justice,  ye  thafe! 


"'Way  up  in  Tammany  Hall 
They's   a  gintleman  layin'  f'r  you! 

'What's  this/  sez  he,  'I  hear?'  sez  hi 
An'  the  air,  bedad,  grew  blue! 


Officer  Brady  233 

'  Well,  I  nivver  did  hear  av  such  gall ! 
But  if  phwat  ye  say  is  thrue, 
He's  pulled  a  fri'nd  av  a  fri'nd  av  me  fri'nd, 
An*  he'll  go  to  the  goats !     Whurroo !  " 


m 

Sez  Alderman  Grady 
To  Officer  Brady: 
"  Here's  Sullivan's  lady 
Cavoortin'  an'  riled; 
She  lifted  a  locket 
From  Casey's  coat  pocket, 
An'  it  goes  to  the  docket. 
An'  Sullivan's  wild! 


"'Way  up  in  Tammany  Hall 
They's  a  gintleman  layin'  f'r  you! 

*'Tis  a  shame,'  sez  he,  *f'r  to  blame,'  sez  he, 

'A  lady  so  fair  an'  thrue. 
An'  so  divinely  tall' — 
'Tis  po'ms  he  talked,  ye  Jew! 
An'  ye've  cooked  yer  goose,  an'  now  ye're  loose 
F'r  to  folly  the  goats!     Whurroo!" 


TV 

Sez  Alderman  Grady 
To  Officer  Brady: 
"Where's  Katie  Macready, 
The   Confidence   Queen  ? 
She's  niece  to  O'Lafferty's 
Cousins,   the   Caffertys — 
Sinitor  Rafferty's 
Steady  colleen! 

"'Way  up  in  Tammany  Hall 

They's  a  gintleman  layin'  f'r  you! 
'  He's  pinched,'  sez  he,  *  an'  cinched,'  sez  he, 
*A  lady  tray  comme  eel  foo! 


234.  Satire 

Go  dangle  th'  tillyphone  call, 

An'  gimme  La  Mulberry  Roo, 

F'r  the  town  is  too  warrm  f  r  this  gendarme. 

An'  he'll  go  to  the  goats,  mon  Dieu ! ' " 


y 

Sez  Alderman  Grady 
To   Officer  Brady: 
"McCabe  is  afraid  he 

Can't  open  to-night, 
F'r  throuble's  a-brewin'. 
An'  mischief's   a-stewin', 
Wid  nothin'  a-doin' 

An'  everything  tight! 
There's  Register  Ronnell, 
Commissioner  Donnell, 
An'  Congressman   Connell 

Preparin'  f'r  flight; 
The  Dhistrict  Attorney 
Told  Magistrate  Kearny 
That  Captain  McBurney 

Was  dyin'  o'  fright  I 


«0h! 
'Way  up  in  Tammany  Hall 
They's  a  gintleman   lookin'   f'r  you! 

*Bedad,'  sez  he,   *he's  mad,'   sez  he. 

*  So  turm   on  the  screw  f'r  Bellevue, 
An'  chain   'im    ag'in'  the  wall. 
An'  lather  'im  wan  or  two, 
An'  tether  'im  out  on  the  Bloomin'dale  route 
Like  a  loonytick  goat !     Whurroo ! ' " 

Robert   W.  Chambers. 


Post-Impression  235 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

I  CANNOT  tell  you  how  I  love 
The  canvases  of  Mr.  Dove, 
Which  Saturday  I  went  to  see 
In    Mr.    Thurber's   gallery. 

At  first  you  fancy  they  are  built 
As  patterns  for  a  crazy  quilt, 
But  soon  you  see  that  they  express 
An  ambient  simultaneousness. 

This  thing  which  you  would  almost  bet 
Portrays   a  Spanish  omelette, 
Depicts  instead,  with  wondrous  skill, 
A  horse  and  cart  upon  a  hill. 

Now,  Mr.  Dove  has  too  much  art 
To  show  the  horse  or  show  the  cart; 
Instead,   he  paints  the   creak  and   strain, 
Get  it?     No  pike  is  half  as  plain. 

This  thing  which  would  appear  to  show 

A  fancy  vest  scenario, 

Is  really  quite  another  thing, 

A  flock  of  pigeons  on  the  wing. 

But  Mr.  Dove  is  much  too  keen 
To  let  a  single  bird  be  seen; 
To  show  the  pigeons  would  not  do 
And  so  he  simply  paints  the  coo, 

It*s  all  as  simple  as  can  be; 

He  paints  the  things  you  cannot  see, 

Just  as  composers  please  the  ear 

With  "programme"  things  you  cannot  hear. 

Dove  is  the  cleverest  of  chaps; 
And,  gazing  at  his  rhythmic  maps, 
T  wondered   (and  I'm  wondering  yet) 
Whether  he  did  them  on  a  bet. 

Bert  Leston  Taylor. 


236  Satire 

TO  THE  PORTRAIT  OF  "A  GENTLEMAN," 

IN  THE  ATHEN^UM  GALLERY 

It  may  be  so — perhaps  thou  hast 

A  warm  and  loving  heart; 
I  will  not  blame  thee  for  thy  face, 

Poor  devil  as  thou  art. 

That  thing,  thou  fondly  deem'st  a  nose. 
Unsightly  though  it  be, — 
In  spite  of  all  the  cold  world's  scorn. 
It  may  be  much  to  thee. 

Those  eyes, — among  thine  elder  friends 
Perhaps  they  pass  for  blue; — 

No  matter, — if  a  man  can  see. 
What  more  have  eyes  to  do? 

Thy  mouth — that  fissure  in  thy  face 
By  something  like  a  chin, — 

May  be  a  very  useful  place 
To  put  thy  victual  in. 

I  know  thou  hast  a  wife  at  home, 

I  know  thou  hast  a  child. 
By  that  subdued,  domestic  smile 

Upon  thy  features  mild. 

That  wife  sits  fearless  by  thy  side, 

That  cherub  on  thy  knee; 
They  do  not  shudder  at  thy  looks, 

They  do  not  shrink  from  thee. 

Above  thy  mantel  is  a  hook, — 

A  portrait  once  was  there; 
It  was  thine  only  ornament, — 

Alas!  that  hook  is  bare. 


I 


To  the  Portrait  of  "  A  Gentleman  "  237 

She  begged  thee  not  to  let  it  go, 

She  begged  thee  all  in  vain: 
She  wept, — and  breathed  a  trembling  prayer 

To  meet  it  safe  again. 


It  was  a  bitter  sight  to  see 
That  picture  torn  away; 

It  was  a  solemn  thought  to  think 
What  all  her  friends  would  say! 


And  often  in  her  calmer  hours, 
And  in  her  happy  dreams. 

Upon  its  long-deserted  hook 
The  absent  portrait  seems. 


Thy  wretched  infant  turns  his  head 

In  melancholy  wise, 
And  looks  to  meet  the  placid  stare 

Of  those  unbending  eyes. 


I  never  saw  thee,  lovely  one,— 
Perchance  I  never  may; 

It  is  not  often  that  we  cross 
Such  people  in  our  way; 


But  if  we  meet  in  distant  years. 

Or  on  some  foreign  shore. 
Sure  I  can  take  my  Bible  oath 

I've  seen  that  face  before. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 


238  Satire 


CACOETHES  SCEIBENDI 

If  all  the  trees  in  all  the  woods  were  men, 

And  each  and  every  blade  of  grass  a  pen ; 

If  every  leaf  on  every  shrub  and  tree 

Turned  to  a  sheet  of  foolscap;  every  sea 

Were  changed  to  ink,  and  all  earth's  living  tribes 

Had  nothing  else  to  do  but  act  as  scribes, 

And  for  ten  thousand  ages,  day  and  night, 

The  human  race  should  write,  and  write,  and  write. 

Till  all  the  pens  and  paper  were  used  up, 

And  the  huge  inkstand  was  an  empty  cup. 

Still  would  the  scribblers  clustered  round  its  brink 

Call  for  more  pens,  more  paper,  and  more  ink. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 


CONTENTMENT 


Little  I  ask;  my  wants  are  few; 

I  only  wish  a  hut  of  stone 
(A  very  plain  brone  stone  will  do) 

That  I  may  call  my  own; 
And  close  at  hand  is  such  a  one. 
In  yonder  street  that  fronts  the  sun. 

Plain  food  is  quite  enough  for  me; 

Three  courses  are  as  good  as  ten; 
If  Nature  can  subsist  on  three, 

Thank  Heaven  for  three — Amen! 
I  always  thought  cold  victual  nice — 
My  choice  would  be  vanilla-ice. 

I  care  not  much  for  gold  or  land; 

Give  me  a  mortgage  here  and  there. 
Some  good  bank-stock,  some  note  of  hand, 

Or  trifling  railroad  share. 
I  only  ask  that  Fortune  send 
A  little  more  than  I  shall  spend. 


Contentment  239 

Jewels  are  baubles;  'tis  a  sin 

To  care  for  such  unfruitful  things; 
One  good-sized  diamond  in  a  pin, 

Some,  not  so  large,  in  rings. 
A  ruby,  and  a  pearl,  or  so, 
Will  do  for  me — I  laugh  at  show. 

My  dame  should  dress  in  cheap  attire 

(Good,  heavy  silks  are  never  dear); 
I  own  perhaps  I  might  desire 

Some  shawls  of  true  Cashmere — 
Some  marrowy  crapes  of  China  silk. 
Like  wrinkled  skins  on  scalded  milk. 

I  would  not  have  the  horse  I  drive    . 

So  fast  that  folks  must  stop  and  stare; 
An  easy  gait — two,  forty-five — 

Suits  me;  I  do  not  care; 
Perhaps,  for  just  a  single  spurt. 
Some  seconds  less  would  do  no  hurt. 

Of  pictures,  I  should  like  to  own 

Titians  and  Kaphaels  three  or  four — 

I  love  so  much  their  style  and  tone — 
One  Turner,  and  no  more. 

(A  landscape,  foreground  golden  dirt. 

The  sunshine  painted  with  a  squirt). 

Of  books  but  few — some  fifty  score 

For  daily  use,  and  bound  for  wear; 
The  rest  upon  an  upper  floor; 

Some  little  luxury  there 
Of  red  morocco's  gilded  gleam, 
And  vellum  rich  as  country  cream. 

Busts,  cameos,  gems — such  things  as  these. 

Which  others  often  show  for  pride, 
I  value  for  their  power  to  please, 

And  selfish  churls  deride ; 
One  Stradivarius,  I  confess, 
Two  Meerschaums,  I  would  fain  possess. 


240  Satire 

Wealth's  wasteful  tricks  I  will  not  learn, 
Nor  ape  the  glittering  upstart  fool; 

Shall  not  carved  tables  serve  my  turn, 
But  all  must  be  of  buhl? 

Give  grasping  pomp  its  double  share — 

I  ask  but  one  recumbent  chair. 

Thus  humble  let  me  live  and  die. 
Nor  long  for  Midas'  golden  touch; 

If  Heaven  more  generous  gifts  deny, 
I  shall  not  miss  them  much — 

Too  grateful  for  the  blessing  lent 

Of  simple  tastes  and  mind  content! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 


A  BOSTON  LULLABY 

Baby's  brain  is  tired  of  thinking 
On  the  Wherefore  and  the  Whence; 

Baby's  precious  eyes  are  blinking 
With  incipient  somnolence. 

Little  hands  are  weary  turning 

Heavy  leaves  of  lexicon; 
Little  nose  is  fretted  learning 

How  to  keep  its  glasses  on. 

Baby  knows  the  laws  of  nature 

Are  beneficent  and  wise; 
His  medulla  oblongata 

Bids  my  darling  close  his  eyes. 

And  his  pneumogastrics  tell  him 

Quietude  is  always  best 
When  his  little  cerebellum 

Needs  recuperative  rest. 

Baby  must  have  relaxation. 

Let  the  world  go  wrong  or  right. 
Sleep,  my  darling — leave  Creation 

To  its  chances  for  the  night. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche. 


Song  241 


A  GRAIN  OF  SALT 

Of  all  the  wimming  doubly  blest 
The  sailor's  wife's  the  happiest, 
For  all  she  does  is  stay  to  home 
And  knit  and  darn — and  let  'im  roam. 

Of  all  the  husbands  on  the  earth 
The  sailo-  has  the  finest  berth, 
For  in  'is  cabin  he  can  sit 
And  sail  and  sail — and  let  'er  knit. 

Wallace  Irwin. 


SONG 

Why  should  you  swear  I  am  forsworn. 

Since  thine  I  vowed  to  be? 
Lady,  it  is  already  morn, 

And  'twas  last  night  I  swore  to  thee 

That  fond  impossibility. 

Have  I  not  loved  thee  much  and  long, 
A  tedious  twelve  hours'  space? 

I  must  all  other  beauties  wrong, 
And  rob  thee  of  a  new  embrace. 
Could  I  still  dote  upon  thy  face. 

Not  but  all  joy  in  thy  brown  hair 
By  others  may  be  found; 

Bait  I  must  search  the  black  and  fair. 
Like  skilful  mineralists  that  sound 
For  treasure  in  unploughed-up  ground. 

Then,  if  when  T  have  loved  my  round. 

Thou  prov'st  the  pleasant  she; 
With  spoils  of  meaner  beauties  crowned 

I  laden  will  return  to  thee. 

Even  sated  with  variety. 

Richard  Lovelace, 


242  Satire 


A  PHILOSOPHER 

Zack  Bumstead  useter  flosserfize 
About  the  ocean  an'  the  skies; 
An'  gab  an'  gas  f'um  morn  till  noon 
About  the  other  side  the  moon ; 
An'  'bout  the  natur  of  the  place 
Ten  miles  beyend  the  end  of  space. 
An'  if  his  wife  she'd  ask  the  crank 
Ef  he  wouldn't  kinder  try  to  yank 
Hisself  out-doors  an'  git  some  wood 
To  make  her  kitchen  fire  good, 
So  she  c'd  bake  her  beans  an'  pies, 
He'd  say,  '*  I've  getter  flosserfize." 

An'  then  he'd  set  an'  flosserfize 
About  the  natur  an'  the  size 
Of  angels'  wings,  an'  think,  and  gawp, 
An'  wonder  how  they  make  'em  flop. 
He'd  calkerlate  how  long  a  skid 
'Twould  take  to  move  the  sun,  he  did ; 
An'  if  the  skid  was  strong  an'  prime. 
It  couldn't  be  moved  to  supper-time. 
An'  w'en  his  wife  'd  ask  the  lout 
Ef  he  wouldn't  kinder  waltz  about 
An'  take  a  rag  an'  shoo  the  flies. 
He'd  say,  "I've  gotter  flosserfize." 

An'  then  he'd  set  an'  flosserfize 
'Bout  schemes  for  fencing  in  the  skies. 
Then  lettin'  out  the  lots  to  rent, 
So's  he  could  make  an  honest  cent. 
An'  if  he'd  find  it  pooty  tough 
To  borry  cash  fer  fencin'-stuff ; 
An'  if  'twere  best  to  take  his  wealth 
An'  go  to  Europe  for  his  health, 
Or  save  his  cash  till  he'd  enough 
To  buy  some  more  of  fencin'-stuff; 
Then,  ef  his  wife  she'd  ask  the  gump 
Ef  he  wouldn't  kinder  try  to  hump 


A  Philosopher  243 

Hisself  to  t'other  side  the  door, 
So  she  c'd  come  an'  sweep  the  floor, 
He'd  look  at  her  with  mournful  eyes, 
An'  say,  "  I've  gotter  flosserfize." 


An'  so  he'd  set  an'  flosserfize 
'Bout  what  it  wuz  held  up  the  skies. 
An'  how  God  made  this  earthly  ball 
Jest  simply  out  er  nawthin'  'tall, 
An'  'bout  the  natur,  shape,  an'  form 
Of  nawthin'  that  he  made  it  from. 
Then,  ef  his  wife  sh'd  ask  the  freak 
Ef  he  wouldn't  kinder  try  to  sneak 
Out  to  the  barn  an'  find  some  aigs. 
He'd  never  move,  nor  lift  his  laigs; 
He'd  never  stir,  nor  try  to  rise. 
But  say,  "  I've  gotter  flosserfize." 


An'  so  he'd  set  an'  flosserfize 
About  the  earth,  an'  sea,  an'  skies. 
An'  scratch  his  head,  an'  ask  the  cause 
Of  w'at  there  wuz  before  time  wuz, 
An'  w'at  the  universe  'd  do 
Bimeby  w'en  time  bed  all  got  through; 
An'  jest  how  fur  we'd  have  to  climb 
Ef  we  sh'd  travel  out  er  time; 
An'  ef  we'd  need,  w'en  we  got  there. 
To  keep  our  watches  in  repair. 
Then,  ef  his  wife  she'd  ask  the  gawk 
Ef  he  wouldn't  kinder  try  to  walk 
To  where  she  had  the  table  spread. 
An'  kinder  git  his  stomach  fed. 
He'd  leap  for  that  ar  kitchen  door. 
An'  say,  "  Wy  didn't  you  speak  afore  ? " 
An'  when  he'd  got  his  supper  et, 
He'd  set,  an'  set,  an'  set,  an'  set. 
An'  fold  his  arms,  an'  shet  his  eyes. 
An'  set,  an'  set,  an'  flosserfize. 

8am   Walter  Fosa. 


244  Satire 


THE  MEETING  OE  THE  CLABBERHUSES 

I 

He  was  the  Chairman  of  the  Guild 

Of  Early  Pleiocene  Patriarchs; 
He  was  chief  Mentor  of  the  Lodge 

Of  the  Oracular  Oligarchs; 
He  was  the  Lord  High  Autocrat 

And  Vizier  of  the  Sons  of  Light, 
And  Sultan  and  Grand  Mandarin 

Of  the  Millennial  Men  of  Might. 

He  was  Grand  Totem  and  High  Priest 

Of  the  Independent  Potentates; 
Grand  Mogul  of  the  Galaxy 

Of  the  Illustrious  Stay-out-lates ; 
The  President  of  the  Dandydudes, 

The  Treasurer  of  the  Sons  of  Glee; 
The  Leader  of  the  Clubtown  Band 

And  Architects  of  Melody. 

n 

She  was  Grand  Worthy  Prophetess 

Of  the  Illustrious  Maids  of  Mark; 
Of  Vestals  of  the  Third  Degree 

She  was  Most  Potent  Matriarch; 
She  was  High  Priestess  of  the  Shrine 

Of  Clubtown's  Culture  Coterie, 
And  First  Vice-President  of  the  League 

Of  the  illustrious  G.  A.  B. 

She  was  the  First  Dame  of  the  Club 

For  teaching  Patagonians  Greek; 
She  was  Chief  Clerk  and  Auditor 

Of  Clubtown's  Anti-Bachelor  Clique; 
She  was  High  Treasurer  of  the  Fund 

For  Borrioboolighalians, 
And  the  Fund  for  Sending  Browning's  Poems 

To  Native-bom  Australians. 


The  Meeting  of  The  Clabbcrhuses  245 

Once  to  a  crowded  social  fete 

Both  these  much-titled  people  came, 
And  each  perceived,  when  introduced, 

They  had  the  selfsame  name. 
Their  hostess  said,  when  first  they  met: 

"  Permit  me  now  to  introduce 
My  good  friend  Mr.  Clabberhuse 

To  Mrs.  Clabberhuse." 

"  'Tis  very  strange,"  said  she  to  him, 

"  Such  an  unusual  name! — 
A  name  so  very  seldom  heard, 

That  we  should  bear  the  same." 
"  Indeed,  His  wonderful,"  said  he, 

"  And  I'm  surprised  the  more, 
Because  I  never  heard  the  name 

Outside  my  home  before. 

"  But  now  I  come  to  look  at  you," 

Said  he,  "  upon  my  life. 
If  I  am  not  indeed  deceived, 

You  are — you  are — my  wife." 
She  gazed  into  his  searching  face 

And  seemed  to  look  him  through ; 
"  Indeed,"  said  she,  "  it  seems  to  me 

You  are  my  husband,  too. 

"  I've  been  so  busy  with  my  clubs 

And  in  my  various  spheres 
I  have  not  seen  you  now,"  she  said, 

"  For  over  fourteen  years." 
"  That's  just  the  way  it's  been  with  me, 

These  clubs  demand  a  sight " — 
And  then  they  both  politely  bowed, 

And  sweetly  said  "  Good  night." 

Sam  Walter  Foss. 


246  Satire 


THE  IDEAL  HUSBAND  TO  HIS  WIFE 

We've  lived  for  forty  years,  dear  wife, 

And  walked  together  side  by  side. 
And  you  to-day  are  just  as  dear 

As  when  you  were  my  bride. 
Fve  tried  to  make  life  glad  for  you, 

One  long,  sweet  honeymoon  of  joy, 
A  dream  of  marital  content, 

Without  the  least  alloy. 
I've  smoothed  all  boulders  from  our  path, 

That  we  in  peace  might  toil  along. 
By  always  hastening  to  admit 

That  I  was  right  and  you  were  wrong. 

No  mad  diversity  of  creed 

Has  ever  sundered  me  from  thee; 
Eor  I  permit  you  evermore 

To  borrow  your  ideas  of  me. 
And  thus  it  is,  through  weal  or  woe. 

Our  love  forevermore  endures; 
For  I  permit  that  you  should  take 

My  views  and  creeds,  and  make  them  yours. 
And  thus  I  let  you  have  my  way. 

And  thus  in  peace  we  toil  along, 
For  I  am  willing  to  admit 

That  I  am  right  and  you  are  wrong. 

And  when  our  matrimonial  skiff 

Strikes  snags  in  love's  meandering  stream, 
I  lift  our  shallop  from  the  rocks. 

And  float  as  in  a  placid  dream. 
And  well  I  know  our  marriage  bliss 

While  life  shall  last  will  never  cease; 
For  I  shall  always  let  thee  do. 

In  generous  love,  just  what  I  please. 
Peace  comes,  and  discord  flies  away. 

Love's  bright  day  follows  hatred's  night; 
For  I  am  ready  to  admit 

That  you  are  wrong  and  I  am  right. 

Sam   Walter  F088, 


I 


If  They  Meant  All  They  Said  24j7 


DISTICHS 

Wisely  a  woman  prefers  to  a  lover  a  man  who  neglects  her. 
This  one  may  love  her  some  day ;  some  day  the  lover  will  not. 

There  are  three  species  of  creatures  who  when   they  seem 

coming  are  going, 
When  they  seem  going  they  come:  Diplomats,  women,  and 

crabs. 

As  the  meek  beasts  in  the  Garden  came  flocking  for  Adam 

to  name  them, 
Men  for  a  title  to-day  crawl  to  the  feet  of  a  king. 

What  is  a  first  love  worth  except  to  prepare  for  a  second. 
What  does  the  second  love  bring?    Only  regret  for  the  first. 

John  Hay. 


THE  HEN-KOOST  MAN 

De  Hen-roost  Man  he'll  preach  about  Paul, 
An'  James  an'  John,  an'  Herod,  an'  all, 
But  nuver  a  word  about  Peter,  oh,  no! 
He's  afeard  he'll  hear  dat  rooster  crow. 

An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat,  in  dat — 

An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat. 

Ruth  McEnery  Stuart. 


IF  THEY  MEANT  ALL  THEY  SAID 

Charm  is  a  woman's  strongest  arm; 
My  charwoman  is  full  of  charm; 
I  chose  her,  not  for  strength  of  arm 
But  for  her.  strange,  elusive  charm. 

And  how  tears  heighten  woman's  powers  I 
My  typist  weeps  for  hours  and  hours : 
I  took  her  for  her  weeping  powers' — 
They  so  delight  my  business  hours. 


248  Satire 

A  woman  lives  by  intuition. 
Though  my  accountant  shuns  addition 
She  has  the  rarest  intuition. 
(And  I  myself  can  do  addition.) 

Timidity  in  girls  is  nice. 
My  cook  is  so  afraid  of  mice. 
Now  you'll  admit  it's  very  nice 
To  feel  your  cook's  afraid  of  mice. 

Alice  Duer  Miller. 


THE  MAN 

A  MAN  said  to  the  universe, 
"Sir,  I  exist!" 

"  However,"  replied  the  universe, 
"  The  fact  has  not  created  in  me 
A  sense  of  obligation." 


Stephen  Crane. 


A  THOUGHT 


If  all  the  harm  that  women  have  done 
Were  put  in  a  bundle  and  rolled  into  one, 

Earth  would  not  hold  it, 

The  sky  could  not  enfold  it, 
It  could  not  be  lighted  nor  warmed  by  the  sun ; 

Such  masses  of  evil 

Would  puzzle  the  devil, 
And  keep  him  in  fuel  while  Time's  wheels  run. 

But  if  all  the  harm  that's  been  done  by  men 
Were  doubled,  and  doubled,  and  doubled  again, 
And  melted  and  fused  into  vapour,  and  then 
Were  squared  and  raised  to  the"  power  of  ten, 
There  wouldn't  be  nearly  enough,  not  near, 
To  keep  a  small  girl  for  the  tenth  of  a  year. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 


The  Knife-Grinder  249 


THE  MUSICAL  ASS 

The  fable  which  I  now  present, 
Occurred  to  me  by  accident: 
And  whether  bad  or  excellent, 
Is  merely  so  by  accident. 

A  stupid  ass  this  morning  went 

Into  a  field  by  accident: 

And  cropped  his  food,  and  was  content. 

Until  he  spied  by  accident 

A  flute,  which  some  oblivious  gent 

Had  left  behind  by  accident ; 

When,  sniffling  it  with  eager  scent, 

He  breathed  on  it  by  accident. 

And  made  the  hollow  instrument 

Emit  a  sound  by  accident. 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah !  "  exclaimed  the  brute, 

"  How  cleverly  I  play  the  flute !  " 

A  fool,  in  spite  of  nature's  bent, 
May  shine  for  once, — by  accident. 

Tomaso  de  Yriarte. 


THE  KNIFE-GKINDER 

Friend  of  Humanity 
''Needy  Knife-grinder!  whither  are  you  going? 
Rough  is  the  road — your  wheel  is  out  of  order — 
Bleak  blows  the  blast ;  your  hat  has  got  a  hole  in't, 

So  have  your  breeches 

'Weary  Knife-grinder!  little  think  the  proud  ones. 
Who  in  their  coaches  roll  along  the  turnpike- 
Eoad,  what  hard  work  'tis  crying  all  day  '  Knives  and 

Scissors  to  grind  O ! ' 

'Tell  me,  Knife-grinder,  how  you  came  to  grind  knives? 
Did  some  rich  man  tyrannically  use  you  ? 
Was  it  the  squire?  or  parson  of  the  parish? 

Or  the  attorney? 


250  Satire 

"  Was  it  the  squire,  for  killing  of  his  game  ?  or 
Covetous  parson,  for  his  tithes  distraining? 
Or  roguish  lawyer,  made  you  lose  your  little 

All  in  a  law-suit? 

"  (Have  you  not  read  the  Rights  of  Man,  by  Tom  Paine?) 
Drops  of  compassion  tremble  on  my  eyelids, 
Ready  to  fall,  as  soon  as  you  have  told  your 

Pitiful  story." 

Knife-grinder 
"  Sto-ry !  God  bless  you !  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir. 
Only  last  night,  a-drinking  at  the  Chequers, 
This  poor  old  hat  and  breeches,  as  you  see,  were 

Torn  in  a  scuffle. 

'*  Constables  came  up  for  to  take  me  into 
Custody;  they  took  me  before  the  justice; 
Justice  Oldmixon  put  me  in  the  parish- 
Stocks  for  a  vagrant. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  drink  your  Honour's  health  in 
A  pot  of  beer,  if  you  will  give  me  sixpence ; 
But  for  my  part,  I  never  love  to  meddle 

With  politics,  sir." 

Friend  of  Humanity 
"/  give  thee  sixpence!     I  will  see  thee  damn'd  first — 
Wretch !  whom  no  sense  of  wrongs  can  rouse  to  vengeance — 
Sordid,  unfeeling,  reprobate,  degraded, 

Spiritless  outcast! 


I 


[KicJcs  the  Knife-grinder,  overturns  his  wheel,  and  exit  in 
a  transport  of  Republican  enthusiasm  and  universal  philan 
thropy.'] 

George  Canning 


I 


St.  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes  251 


ST.  ANTHONY'S  SERMON  TO  THE  FISHES 

Saint  Antohny  at  church 

Was  left  in  the  lurch, 

So  he  went  to  the  ditches 

And  preached  to  the  fishes. 
They  wriggled  their  tails, 
In  the  sun  glanced  their  scales. 


The  carps,  with  their  spawn, 
Are  all  thither  drawn; 
Have  opened  their  jaws. 
Eager  for  each  clause. 

No  sermon  beside 

Had  the  carps  so  edified. 


Sharp-snouted  pikes, 
Who  keep  fighting  like  tikes. 
Now  swam  up  harmonious 
To  hear  Saint  Antonius. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  pikes  so  edified. 


And  that  very  odd  fish, 
Who  loves  fast-days,  the  cod-fish- 
The  stock-fish,  I  mean — 
At  the  sermon  was  seen. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  cods  so  edified. 


Good  eels  and  sturgeon. 
Which  aldermen  gorge  on. 
Went  out  of  their  way 
To  hear  preaching  that  day. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  eels  so  edified. 


252  Satire 

Crabs  and  turtles  also, 
Who  always  move  low, 
Made  haste  from  the  bottom 
As  if  the  devil  had  got  'em. 
No  sermon  beside 
The  crabs  so  edified. 


Fish  great  and  fish  small. 
Lords,  lackeys,  and  all. 
Each  looked  at  the  preacher 
Like  a  reasonable  creature. 
At  God's  word, 
They  Anthony  heard. 


The  sermon  now  ended. 
Each  turned  and  descended; 
The  pikes  went  on  stealing. 
The  eels  went  on  eeling. 
Much  delighted  were  they. 
But  preferred  the  old  way. 


The  crabs  are  backsliders. 
The  stock-fish  thick-siders. 
The  carps  are  sharp-set — 
All  the  sermon  forget. 

Much  delighted  were  they. 

But  preferred  the  old  way. 

Abraham  a  Sancta-Clara. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  BLENHEIM 

It  was  a  summer's  evening; 

Old  Casper's  work  was  done. 
And  he  before  his  cottage-door 

Was  sitting  in  the  sun; 
And  by  him  sported  on  the  green 
His  little  grandchild  Wilhelmine. 


The  Battle  of  Blenheim  263 

She  saw  her  brother  Peterkin 

Koll  something  large  and  round, 
That  he  beside  the  rivulet 

In  playing  there  had  found. 
He  came  to  ask  what  he  had  found, 
That  was  so  large,  and  smooth,  and  round. 

Old  Casper  took  it  from  the  boy. 

Who  stood  expectant  by; 
And  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head, 

And  with  a  natural  sigh, 
"  'Tis  some  poor  fellow's  skull,"  said  he, 
"Who  fell  in  the  great  victory. 

"  I  find  them  in  the  garden,  for 

There's  many  here  about; 
And  often,  when  I  go  to  plough. 

The  ploughshare  turns  them  out; 
For  many  thousand  men,"  said  he, 
"  Were  slain  in  the  great  victory." 

"  Now  tell  us  what  'twas  all  about," 

Young  Peterkin  he  cries; 
And  little  Wilhelmine  looks  up. 

With  wonder-waiting  eyes: 
*'  Now  tell  us  all  about  the  war, 
And  what  they  kill'd  each  other  for." 

"  It  was  the  English,"  Casper  cried, 

"  That  put  the  French  to  rout; 
But  what  they  kill'd  each  other  for, 

I  could  not  well  make  out; 
But  everybody  said,"  quoth  he, 
"  That  'twas  a  famous  victory. 

"  My  father  lived  at  Blenheim  then. 

Yon  little  stream  hard  by; 
They  burnt  his  dwelling  to  the  ground, 

And  he  was  forced  to  fly; 
So  with  his  wife  and  child  he  fled, 
Nor  had  he  where  to  rest  his  head. 


254  Satire 

"  With  fire  and  sword  the  country  round 

Was  wasted  far  and  wide. 
And  many  a  childing  mother  then 

And  new-born  infant  died. 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
At  every  famous  victory. 

"  They  say  it  was  a  shocking  sight. 

After  the  field  was  won, 
For  many  a  thousand  bodies  here 

Lay  rotting  in  the  sun. 
But  things  like  that,  you  know,  must  be 
After  a  famous  victory. 

"  Great  praise  the  Duke  of  Marlbro'  won, 

And  our  good  Prince  Eugene." 
"  Why,  'twas  a  very  wicked  thing !  " 

Said  little  Wilhelmine. 
"  Nay,  nay,  my  little  girl,"  quoth  he, 
"It  was  a  famous  victory; 

"  And  everybody  praised  the  duke. 

Who  such  a  fight  did  win." 
"  But  what  good  came  of  it  at  last  ? " 

Quoth  little  Peterkin. 
"  Why,  that  I  cannot  tell,"  said  he ; 
"  But  'twas  a  famous  victory." 

Robert  Southey. 


THE  THREE  BLACK  CROWS 

Two  honest  tradesmen  meeting  in  the  Strand, 
One  took  the  other  briskly  by  the  hand; 
"  Hark -ye,"  said  he,  "  'tis  an  odd  story,  this. 
About  the  crows ! "    "I  don't  know  what  it  is," 
Replied  his  friend.    "No!    Fm  surprised  at  that; 
Where  T  came  from  it  is  the  common  chat; 
But  you  shall  hear — an  odd  affair  indeed! 
And  that  it  happened,  they  are  all  agreed. 


The  Three  Black  Crows  255 

Not  to  detain  you  from  a  thing  so  strange, 

A  gentleman,  that  lives  not  far  from  'Change, 

This  week,  in  short,  as  all  the  alley  knows. 

Taking  a  puke,  has  thrown  up  three  black  crows." 

" Impossible!  "    "  Nay,  but  it's  really  true; 

I  have  it  from  good  hands,  and  so  may  you." 

"  From  whose,  I  pray  ? "    So,  having  named  the  man, 

Straight  to  inquire  his  curious  comrade  ran. 

"  Sir,  did  you  tell " — relating  the  affair. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did ;  and,  if  it's  worth  your  care. 

Ask  Mr.  Such-a-one,  he  told  it  me. 

But,  by  the  bye,  'twas  two  black  crows — not  three." 

Resolved  to  trace  so  wondrous  an  event, 

Whip,  to  the  third,  the  virtuoso  went; 

"  Sir" — and  so  forth.    "Why,  ye3;  the  thing  is  fact, 

Though,  in  regard  to  number,  not  exact; 

It  was  not  two  black  crows — 'twas  only  one; 

The  truth  of  that  you  may  depend  upon ; 

The  gentleman  himself  told  me  the  case." 

"  Where  may  I  find  him  ?  "    "  Why,  in  such  a  place." 

Away  goes  he,  and,  having  found  him  out, 

"  Sir,  be  so  good  as  to  resolve  a  doubt." 

Then  to  his  last  informant  he  referred, 

And  begged  to  know  if  true  what  he  had  heard. 

"  Did  you,  sir,  throw  up  a  black  crow  ? "    "  Not  I." 

"  Bless  me !  how  people  propagate  a  lie ! 

Black  crows  have  been  thrown  up,  three,  two,  and  one; 

And  here,  I  find,  all  comes,  at  last,  to  none. 

Did  you  say  nothing  of  a  crow  at  all  ?  " 

"  Crow — crow — perhaps  I  might,  now  I  recall 

The  matter  over."    "  And  pray,  sir,  what  was't? " 

"  Why,  I  was  horrid  sick,  and,  at  the  last, 

I  did  throw  up,  and  told  my  neighbor  so. 

Something  that  was — as  black,  sir,  as  a  crow." 

John  Byrom. 


256  Satire 

TO  THE  TEKRESTKIAL  GLOBE 

BY  A  MISERABLE  WRETCH 

KoLL  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on ! 
Through  pathless  realms  of  space 

Roll  on! 
What  though  I'm  in  a  sorry  case? 
What  though  I  cannot  meet  my  bills? 
What  though  I  suffer  toothache's  ills  ? 
What  though  I  swallow  countless  pills? 
Never  you  mind! 

Roll  on! 

Roll  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on ! 
Through  seas  of  inky  air 

Roll  on! 
It's  true  I've  got  no  shirts  to  wear; 
It's  true  my  butcher's  bill  is  due; 
It's  true  my  prospects  all  look  blue; 
But  don't  let  that  unsettle  you. 

Never  you  mind! 
Roll  on! 

(Jt  rolls  on.) 


W.  5".  Gilbert. 


ETIQUETTE 

The  Ballyshannon  foundered  off  the  coast  of  Cariboo,  % 

And  down  in  fathoms  many  went  the  captain  and  the  crew; 
Down   went  the   owners — greedy   men   whom   hope  of  gain 

allured : 
Oh,  dry  the  starting  tear,  for  they  were  heavily  insured. 

Besides  the  captain  and  the  mate,  the  owners  and  the  crew^ 
The  passengers  were  also  drowned  excepting  only  two: 
Young  Peter  Gray,  who  tasted  teas  for  Baker,  Croop,  and  Co, 
And  Somers,  who  from  Eastern  shores  imported  indigo. 


Etiquette  257 

These  passengers,  by  reason  of  their  clinging  to  a  mast, 
Upon  a  desert  island  were  eventually  cast. 
They  hunted  for  their  meals,  as  Alexander  Selkirk  used, 
But  they  couldn't  chat  together — they  had  not  been  intro- 
duced. 


For  Peter  Gray,  and  Somers,  too,  though  certainly  in  trade, 
Were  properly  particular  about  the  friends  the5^  made ; 
And  somehow  thus  they  settled  it,  without  a  word  of  mouth, 
That  Gray  should  take  the  northern  half,  while  Somers  took 
the  south. 

)0n  Peter's  portion  oysters  grew — a  delicacy  rare, 
But  oysters  were  a  delicacy  Peter  couldn't  bear. 
On  Somer's  side  was  turtle,  on  the  shingle  lying  thick. 
Which  Somers  couldn't  eat,  because  it  always  made  him  sick. 

Gray  gnashed  his  teeth  with  envy  as  he  saw  a  mighty  store 
Of  turtle  unmolested  on  his  fellow-creature's  shore. 
The  oysters  at  his  feet  aside  impatiently  he  shoved, 
For  turtle  and  his  mother  were  the  only  things  he  loved. 

And  Somers  sighed  in  sorrow  as  he  settled  in  the  south. 

For  the  thought  of  Peter's  oysters  brought  the  water  to  his 

mouth. 
He  longed  to  lay  him  down  upon  the  shelly  bed,  and  stuff: 
He  had  often  eaten  oysters,  but  had  never  had  enough. 

How  they  wished  an  introduction  to  each  other  they  had  had 
When  on  board  the  Bally  shannon!    And  it  drove  them  nearly 

mad 
To  think  how  very  friendly  with  each  other  they  might  get. 
If  it  wasn't  for  the  arbitrary  rule  of  etiquette! 

One  day,  when  out  a-hunting  for  the  mus  ridiculus. 
Gray  overheard  his  fellow-man  soliloquising  thus: 
"  I  wonder  how  the  playmates  of  my  youth  are  getting  on, 
M'Connell,  S.  B.  Walters,  Paddy  Byles,  and  Robinson?" 


258  Satire 

These  simple  words  made  Peter  as  delighted  as  could  be; 
Old  chummies  at  the  Charterhouse  were  Robinson  and  he. 
He  walked  straight  up  to  Somers,  then  he  turned  extremely 

red, 
Hesitated,  hummed  and  hawed  a  bit,  then  cleared  his  throat, 

and  said : 

''  I  beg  your  pardon — pray  forgive  me  if  I  seem  too  bold, 
But  you  have  breathed  a  name  I  knew  familiarly  of  old. 
You  spoke  aloud  of  Hobinson — I  happened  to  be  by. 
You  know  him  ? "    "  Yes,  extremely  well."     "  Allow  me,  so 
do  I." 

It  was  enough:  they  felt  they  could  more  pleasantly  get  on. 
For  (ah,  the  magic  of  the  fact!)  they  each  knew  Robinson! 
And  Mr.  Somers'  turtle  was  at  Peter's  service  quite. 
And  Mr.  Somers  punished  Peter's  oyster-beds  all  night. 

They  soon  became  like  brothers  from  community  of  wrongs; 
They  wrote  each  other  little  odes  and  sang  each  other  songs ; 
They  told  each  other  anecdotes  disparaging  their  wives; 
On  several  occasions,  too,  they  saved  each  other's  lives. 

They  felt  quite  melancholy  when  they  parted  for  the  night, 
And  got  up  in  the  morning  soon  as  ever  it  was  light; 
Each  other's  pleasant  company  they  reckoned  so  upon. 
And  all  because  it  happened  that  they  both  knew  Robinson ! 

They  lived  for  many  years  on  that  inhospitable  shore, 

And  day  by  day  they  learned  to  love  each  other  more  and 

more. 
At  last,  to  their  astonishment,  on  getting  up  one  day. 
They  saw  a  frigate  anchored  in  the  offing  of  the  bay. 

To  Peter  an  idea  occurred.    "  Suppose  we  cross  the  main  ? 
So  good  an  opportunity  may  not  be  found  again.'' 
And  Somers  thought  a  minute,  then  ejaculated,  "Done! 
I  wonder  how  my  business  in  the  City's  getting  on  ? " 


Etiquette 

"  But  stay,"  said  Mr.  Peter ;  "  when  in  England,  as  you  know, 
I  earned  a  living  tasting  teas  for  Baker,  Croop,  and  Co., 
I  may  be  superseded — my  employers  think  me  dead !  " 
"  Then   come   with   me,"    said    Somers,    "  and   taste   indigo 
instead." 

But  all  their  plans  were  scattered  in  a  moment  when  they 

found 
The  vessel  was  a  convict  ship  from  Portland  outward  bound; 
When  a  boat  came  off  to  fetch  them,  though  they  felt  it  very 

kind. 
To  go  on  board  they  firmly  but  respectfully  declined. 

As  both  the  happy  settlers  roared  with  laughter  at  the  joke. 
They  recognized  a  gentlemanly  fellow  pulling  stroke: 
'Twas  Robinson — a  convict,  in  an  unbecoming  frock! 
Condemned   to    seven   years   for   misappropriating   stock ! ! ! 

They  laughed  no  more,  for   Somers   thought  he  had  been 

rather  rash 
In  knowing  one  whose  friend  had  misappropriated  cash; 
And  Peter  thought  a  foolish  tack  he  must  have  gone  upon 
In  making  the  acquaintance  of  a  friend  of  Robinson. 

At  first  they  didn't  quarrel  very  openly,  I've  heard; 

They  nodded  when  they  met,  and  now  and  then  exchanged  a 

word: 
The  word  grew  rare,  and  rarer  still  the  nodding  of  the  head. 
And  when  they  meet  each  other  now,  they  cut  each  other 

dead. 

To  allocate  the  island  they  agreed  by  word  of  mouth. 
And  Peter  takes  the  north  again,  and  Somers  takes  the  south; 
And  Peter  has  the  oysters,  which  he  hates,  in  layers  thick. 
And  Somers  has  the  turtle — turtle  always  makes  him  sick. 

W.  S,  Gilbert. 


260  Satire 


A  MODEST  WIT 

A  SUPERCILIOUS  nabob  of  the  East — 

Haughty,  being  great — purse-proud,  being  rich- 
A  governor,  or  general,  at  the  least, 

I  have  forgotten  which — 
Had  in  his  family  a  humble  youth. 

Who  went  from  England  in  his  patron's  suite, 
An  unassuming  boy,  in  truth 

A  lad  of  decent  parts,  and  good  repute. 

This  youth  had  sense  and  spirit; 

But  yet  with  all  his  sense, 

Excessive  diflfidence 
Obscured  his  merit. 


One  day,  at  table,  flushed  with  pride  and  wine, 
His  honor,  proudly  free,  severely  merry, 

Conceived  it  would  be  vastly  fine 
To  crack  a  joke  upon  his  secretary. 

"  Young  man,'*  he  said,  "  by  what  art,  craft,  or  trade 
Did  your  good  father  gain  a  livelihood?" 

"  He  was  a  saddler,  sir,"  Modestus  said, 
"  And  in  his  time  was  reckoned  good." 

"  A  saddler,  eh  ?  and  taught  you  Greek, 

Instead  of  teaching  you  to  sew ! 
Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 

A  saddler,  sir,  of  you?" 

Each  parasite,  then,  as  in  duty  bound. 

The  joke  applauded,  and  the  laugh  went  round. 

At  length  Modestus,  bowing  low. 
Said  (craving  pardon,  if  too  free  he  made), 

"  Sir,  by  your  leave,  I  fain  would  know 
Your  father's  trade! " 


The  Latest  Decalogue  261 

"My  fathers  trade!  by  Heaven,  that's  too  bad! 
My  father's  trade?     Why,  blockhead,  are  you  mad? 
My  father,  sir,  did  never  stoop  so  low — 
He  was  a  gentleman,  I'd  have  you  know." 

"  Excuse  the  liberty  I  t£ike," 

Modestus  said,  with  archness  on  his  brow, 
"Pray,  why  did  not  your  father  make 

A  gentleman  of  you  ?  " 

Selleck  Oshorn. 


THE  LATEST  DECALOGUE 

Thou  shalt  have  one  God  only,  who 
Would  be  at  the  expense  of  two? 
No  graven  images  may  be 
Worshipped,  except  the  currency: 
Swear  not  at  all ;  for,  for  thy  curse 
Thine  enemy  is  none  the  worse : 
At  Church  on  Sunday  to  attend 
Will  serve  to  keep  the  world  thy  friend : 
Honour  thy  parents;  that  is,  all 
From  whom  advancement  may  befall : 
Thou  shalt  not  kill ;  but  need'st  not  striye 
Officiously  to  keep  alive: 
Do  not  adultery  commit; 
Advantage  rarely  comes  of  it: 
Thou  shalt  not  steal;  an  empty  feat. 
When  it's  so  lucrative  to  cheat : 
Bear  not  false  witness ;  let  the  lie 
Have  time  on  its  own  wings  to  fly: 
Thou  shalt  not  covet,  but  tradition 
Approves  all  forms  of  competition. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 


262  Satire 


A  SIMILE 

Dear  Thomas,  didst  thou  never  pop 
Thy  head  into  a  tin-man's  shop? 
There,  Thomas,  didst  thou  never  see 
('Tis  but  by  way  of  simile) 
A  squirrel  spend  his  little  rage, 
In  jumping  round  a  rolling  cage? 
The  cage,  as  either  side  tum'd  up. 
Striking  a  ring  of  bells  a-top? — 

Mov'd  in  the  orb,  pleas'd  with  the  chimes, 
The  foolish  creature  thinks  he  climbs : 
But  here  or  there,  turn  wood  or  wire. 
He  never  gets  two  inches  higher. 

So  fares  it  with  those  merry  blades, 
That  frisk  it  under  Pindus'  shades. 
In  noble  songs,  and  lofty  odes, 
They  tread  on  stars,  and  talk  with  gods; 
Still  dancing  in  an  airy  round, 
Still  pleas'd  with  their  own  verses'  sound; 
Brought  back,  how  fast  soe'er  they  go. 
Always  aspiring,  always  low. 

Matthew  Prior. 

BY  PAKCELS  POST 

A  DOMESTIC   IDYLL 

I  SENT  my  love  a  parcel 

In  the  days  when  we  were  young. 
Or  e'er  by  ca^e  and  trouble 

Our  heart-strings  had  been  wrung. 
By  parcels  post  I  sent  it — 

What  'twas  I  do  not  know — 
In  the  days  when  we  were  courting, 

A  long  time  ago. 

The  spring-time  waxed  to  summer, 

Then  autumn  leaves  grew  red, 
And  in  the  sweet  September 

My  love  and  I  were  wed. 


Bj  Parcels  Post  263 

But  though  the  Church  had  blessed  us. 

My  little  wife  looked  glum; 
I'd  posted  her  a  parcel, 

And  the  parcel  hadn't  come. 


Ah,  many  moons  came  after,   . 

And  then  there  was  a  voice, 
A  little  voice  whose  music 

Would  make  our  hearts  rejoice. 
And,  singing  to  her  baby, 

My  dear  one  oft  would  say, 
"I  wonder,  baby  darling, 

Will  that  parcel  come  to-day  ? " 


The  gold  had  changed  to  silver 

Upon  her  matron  brow; 
The  years  were  eight-and-twenty 

Since  we  breathed  our  marriage  vow. 
And  our  grandchildren  were  playing 

Hunt-the-slipper  on  the  floor, 
When  they  saw  the  postman  standing 

By  our  open  cottage  door. 


Then  they  ran  with  joy  to  greet  him. 

For  they  knew  he'd  come  at  last; 
They  had  heard  me  tell  the  story 

Very  often  in  the  past. 
He  handed  them  a  parcel. 

And  they  brought  it  in  to  show — 
'Twas  the  parcel  I  had  posted 

Eight-and-twenty  years  ago. 

George  R.  Sims. 


264  Satire 


ALL'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 

A  FRIEND  of  mine  was  married  to  a  scold, 
To  me  he  came,  and  all  his  troubles  told. 
Said  he,  "  She's  like  a  woman  raving  mad." 
"  Alas !  my  friend,"  said  I,  "  that's  very  bad !  " 
"  No,  not  so  bad,"  said  he;  "  for,  with  her,  true 
I  had  both  house  and  land,  and  money  too." 

"That  was  well,"  said  I; 

"  No,  not  so  well,"  said  he ; 

"  For  I  and  her  own  brother 

Went  to  law  with  one  another; 

I  was  cast,  the  suit  was  lost. 
And  every  penny  went  to  pay  the  cost." 

"That  was  bad,"  said  I; 

"No,  not  so  bad,"  said  he: 
"  For  we  agreed  that  he  the  house  should  keep, 
And  give  to  me  four  score  of  Yorkshire  sheep 
All  fat,  and  fair,  and  fine,  they  were  to  be." 
"  Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  sure  that  was  well  for  thee? " 

"  No,  not  so  well,"  said  he; 

"  For,  when  the  sheep  I  got, 

They  every  one  died  of  the  rot." 

"That  was  bad,"- said  I; 

"  No,  not  so  bad,"  said  he ; 

"  For  I  had  thought  to  scrape  the  fat 

And  keep  it  in  an  oaken  vat; 
Then  into  tallow  melt  for  winter  store." 
"Well,  then,"  said  I,  "that's  better  than  before?" 

"  'Twas  not  so  well,"  said  he ; 

"  For  having  got  a  clumsy  fellow 

To  scrape  the  fat  and  melt  the  tallow; 
Into  the  melting  fat  the  fire  catches. 

And,  like  brimstone  matches. 

Burnt  my  house  to  ashes." 

"That  was  bad,"  said  I; 
"  No !  not  so  bad,"  said  he ;  "  for,  what  is  best, 
My  scolding  wife  has  gone  among  the  rest." 

Unknown. 


The  Contrast  265 


THE  CONTRAST 

In  London  I  never  know  what  I'd  be  at, 
Enraptured  with  this,  and  enchanted  with  that; 
I'm  wild  with  the  sweets  of  variety's  plan. 
And  life  seems  a  blessing  too  happy  for  man. 

But  the  country,  Lord  help  me  I  sets  all  matters  right, 
So  calm  and  composing  from  morning  to  night; 
Oh,  it  settles  the  spirits  when  nothing  is  seen 
But  an  ass  on  a  common,  a  goose  on  a  green ! 

In  town,  if  it  rain,  why  it  damps  not  our  hope. 
The  eye  has  her  choice,  and  the  fancy  her  scope; 
What  harm  though  it  pour  whole  nights  or  whole  days? 
It  spoils  not  our  prospects,  or  stops  not  our  ways. 

In  the  country,  what  bliss,  when  it  rains  in  the  fields. 
To  live  on  the  transports  that  shuttlecock  yields; 
Or  go  crawling  from  window  to  window,  to  see 
A  pig  on  a  dunghill  or  crow  on  a  tree. 

In  town,  we've  no  use  for  the  skies  overhead. 
For  when  the  sun  rises  then  we  go  to  bed; 
And  as  to  that  old-fashioned  virgin  the  moon. 
She  shines  out  of  season,  like  satin  in  June. 

In  the  country,  these  planets  delightfully  glare. 
Just  to  show  us  the  object  we  want  isn't  there; 
Oh,  how  cheering  and  gay,  when  their  beauties  arise. 
To  sit  and  gaze  round  with  the  tears  in  one's  eyes  I 

But  'tis  in  the  country  alone  we  can  find 
That  happy  resource,  the  relief  of  the  mind. 
When,  drove  to  despair,  our  last  efforts  we  make. 
And  drag  the  old  fish-pond,  for  novelty's  sake: 

Indeed  I  must  own,  'tis  a  pleasure  complete 

To  see  ladies  well-draggled  and  wet  in  their  feet; 

But  what  is  all  that  to  the  transport  we  feel 

When  we  capture,  in  triumph,  two  toads  and  an  eel ! 


266  Satire 

I  have  heard  though,  that  love  in  a  cottage  is  sweet, 
When  two  hearts  in  one  link  of  soft  sympathy  meet; 
That's  to  come — for  as  yet  I,  alas!  am  a  swain. 
Who  require,  1  own  it,  more  links  to  my  chain. 


In  the  country,  if  Cupid  should  find  a  man  out, 
The  poor  tortured  victim  mopes  hopeless  about; 
But  in  London,  thank  Heaven !  our  peace  is  secure. 
Where  for  one  eye  to  kill,  there's  a  thousand  to  cure. 

In  town  let  me  live  then,  in  town  let  me  die, 
For  in  truth  I  can't  relish  the  country,  not  I. 
If  one  must  have  a  villa  in  summer  to  dwell, 
Oh,  give  me  the  sweet  shady  side  of  Pall  Mall ! 

Captain  C.  Morris. 


THE  DEVONSHIRE  LANE 

In  a  Devonshire  lane  as  I  trotted  along 
T'other  day,  much  in  want  of  a  subject  for  song; 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  1  hare  hit  on  a  strain — 
Sure  marriage  is  much  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 


In  the  first  place,  'tis  long,  and  when  once  you  are  in  it, 
It  holds  you  as  fast  as  the  cage  holds  a  linnet; 
For  howe'er  rough  and  dirty  the  road  may  be  found. 
Drive  forward  you  must,  since  there's  no  turning  round. 

But  though  'tis  so  long,  it  is  not  very  wide, 

For  two  are  the  most  that  together  can  ride; 

And  e'en  there  'tis  a  chance  but  they  get  in  a  pother. 

And  jostle  and  cross,  and  run  foul  of  each  other. 

Old  Poverty  greets  them  with  mendicant  looks. 
And  Care  pushes  by  them  o'erladen  with  crooks. 
And  Strife's  grating  wheels  try  between  them  to  pass. 
Or  Stubbornness  blocks  up  the  way  on  her  ass. 


A  Splendid  Fellow  267 

Then  the  banks  are  so  high,  both  to  left  hand  and  right, 
That  they  shut  up  the  beauties  around  from  the  sight; 
And  hence,  you'll  allow,  'tis  an  inference  plain 
That  marriage  is  just  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 


But,  thinks  I,  too,  these  banks  within  which  we  are  pent, 
With  bud,  blossom,  and  berry  are  richly  besprent; 
And  the  conjugal  fence  which  forbids  us  to  roam 
Looks  lovely  when  deck'd  with  the  comforts  of  home. 

In  the  rock's  gloomy  crevice  the  bright  holly  grows. 

The  ivy  waves  fresh  o'er  the  withering  rose; 

And  the  evergreen  love  of  a  virtuous  wife 

Smooths  the  roughness  of  care — cheers  the  winter  of  life. 

Then  long  be  the  journey  and  narrow  the  way; 
I'll  rejoice  that  I've  seldom  a  turnpike  to  pay; 
And,  whate'er  others  think,  be  the  last  to  complain, 
Though  marriage  is  just  like  a  Devonshire  lane. 

John  Marriott. 


A  SPLENDID  FELLOW 

Delmonico's  is  where  he  dines 

On  quail  on  toast,  washed  down  with  wines; 

Then  lights  a  twenty-cent  cigar 

With  quite  a  flourish  at  the  bar. 

He  throws  his  money  down  so  proud. 
And  " sets  'em  up "  for  all  the  crowd; 
A  dozen  games  of  billiards,  too. 
He  gaily  loses  ere  he's  through. 

Oh,  he's  a  splendid  fellow,  quite; 
He  pays  his  debts  with  such  delight. 
And  often  boasts  of — to  his  clan — 
His  honour  as  d  gentleman. 


268  Satire 

But  when  this  splendid  fellow's  wife, 
*    Who  leads  at  home  a  frugal  life 
Begs  for  a  little  change  to  buy 
A  dress,  he  looks  at  her  so  wry. 

That  she,  alarmed  at  his  distress, 
Gives  him  a  liiss  and  sweet  caress, 
And  says,  "  Don't  worry  so,  my  dear, 
"  I'll  turn  the  dress  I  made  last  year." 

H.  C.  Dodge. 


IF 

Ip  a  man  could  live  a  thousand  years. 

When  half  his  life  had  passed. 
He  might,  by  strict  economy, 

A  fortune  have  amassed. 

Then  having  gained  some  common-sense, 

And  knowledge,  too,  of  life. 
He  could  select  the  woman  who 

Would  make  him  a  true  wife. 

But  as  it  is,  man  hasn't  time 

To  even  pay  his  debts. 
And  weds  to  be  acquainted  with 

The  woman  whom  he  gets. 

H.  C.  Dodge. 


ACCEPTED  AND  WILL  APPEAR 

One  evening  while  reclining 
In  my  easy-chair,  repining 
O'er  the  lack  of  true  religion,  and  the  dearth  of  commor 
sense, 

A  solemn  visaged  lady, 
Wlio  was  surely  on  the  shady 
S^do  of  thirty,  entered  proudly,  and  to  crush  me  did  com 
mence : 


The  Little  Vagabond  269 

"  I  sent  a  poem  here,  sir," 

Said  the  lady,  growing  fiercer, 
"  And  the  subject  which  I'd  chosen,  you  remember,  sir,  was 
'Spring'; 

But,  although  I've  scanned  your  paper, 

Sir,  by  sunlight,  gas,  and  taper, 
I've  discovered  of  that  poem  not  a  solitary  thing." 


She  was  muscular  and  wiry, 

And  her  temper  sure  was  fiery. 
And  I  knew  to  pacify  her  1  would  have  to — fib  like  fun. 

So  I  told  her  ere  her  verses. 

Which  were  great,  had  come  to — bless  us, 
We'd  received  just  sixty-one  on  "  Spring,"  of  which  we'd 
printed  one. 

And  I  added,  "  We've  decided 

That  they'd  better  be  divided 
Among  the  years  that  follow — one  to  each  succeeding  Spring. 

So  your  work,  I'm  pleased  to  mention. 

Will  receive  our  best  attention 
In  the  year  of  nineteen-forty,  when  the  birds  begin  to  sing." 

Parmenas  Mix. 


THE  LITTLE  VAGABOND 

Dear  mother,  dear  mother,  the  Church  is  cold ; 

But  the  Alehouse  is  healthy,  and  pleasant,  and  warm. 

Besides,  I  can  tell  where  I  am  used  well; 

The  poor  parsons  with  wind  like  a  blown  bladder  swell. 

But,  if  at  the  Church  they  would  give  us  some  ale, 
And  a  pleasant  fire  our  souls  to  regale, 
We'd  sing  and  we'd  pray  all  the  livelong  day, 
Nor  ever  once  wish  from  the  Church  to  stray. 


Then  the  Parson  might  preach,  and  drink,  and  sing. 
And  we'd  be  as  happy  as  birds  in  the  spring; 


270  Satire 

And  modest  Dame  Lurch,  who  is  always  at  Church, 
Would  not  have  bandy  children,  nor  fasting,  nor  birch. 

And  God,  like  a  father,  rejoicing  to  see 

His  children  as  pleasant  and  happy  as  He, 

Would  have  no  more  quarrel  with  the  Devil  or  the  barrel, 

But  kiss  him,  and  give  him  both  drink  and  apparel. 

William  Blake. 

SYMPATHY 

A  KNioiiT  and  a  lady  once  met  in  a  grove 
While  each  was  in  quest  of  a  fugitive  love; 
A  river  ran  mournfully  murmuring  by, 
And  they  wept  in  its  waters  for  sympathy. 

"'  Oh,  never  was  knight  such  a  sorrow  that  bore ! " 
'^  Oh,  never  was  maid  so  deserted  before!  " 
^'  From  life  and  its  woes  let  us  instantly  fly. 
And  jump  in  together  for  company ! " 

They  searched  for  an  eddy  that  suited  the  deed. 
But  here  was  a  bramble  and  there  was  a  weed ; 
"  How  tiresome  it  is!  "  said  the  fair,  with  a  sigh; 
So  they  sat  down  to  rest  them  in  company. 

They  gazed  at  each  other,  the  maid  and  tlie  knight; 
How  fair  was  her  form,  and  how  goodly  his  height! 
''One  mournful  embrace,"  sobbed  the  youth,  "ere  we  die!" 
So  kissing  and  crying  kept  company. 

"  Oh,  had  I  but  loved  such  an  angel  as  you !  " 
"  Oh,  had  but  my  swain  been  a  quarter  as  true!  " 
"To  miss  such  perfection  how  blinded  was  I!" 
Sure  now  they  were  excellent  company ! 

At  length  spoke  the  lass,  'twixt  a  smile  and  a  tear, 
"The  weather  is  cold  for  a  watery  bier; 
When  summer  returns  we  may  easily  die. 
Till  then  let  us  sorrow  in  company." 

Reginald  Heher. 


The  Religion  of  Hudlbras  271 


THE  RELIGION  OF  HUDIBRAS 

For  his  religion  it  was  fit 
To  match  his  learning  and  his  wit: 
'Twas  Presbyterian  true  blue; 
For  he  was  of  that  stubborn  crew 
Of  errant  saints,  whom  all  men  grant 
To  be  the  true  church  militant; 
Such  as  do  build  their  faith  upon 
The  holy  text  of  pike  and  gun ; 
Decide  all  controversies  by 
Infallible  artillery; 
And  prove  their  doctrine  orthodox, 
By  apostolic  blows  and  knocks; 
Call  fire,  and  sword,  and  desolation, 
A  godly,  thorough  reformation. 
Which  always  must  be  carried  on, 
And  still  be  doing,  never  done; 
As  if  religion  were  intended 
For  nothing  else  but  to  be  mended : 
A  sect  whose  chief  devotion  lies 
In  odd  perverse  antipathies;         * 
In  falling  out  with  that  or  this, 
And  finding  somewhat  still  amiss; 
More  peevish,  cross,  and  splenetic. 
Than  dog  distract,  or  monkey  sick; 
That  with  more  care  keep  holy-day 
The  wrong,  than  others  the  right  way, 
Compound  for  sins  they  are  inclin'd  to. 
By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to 
Still  so  perverse  and  opposite, 
As  if  they  worshipped  God  for  spite: 
The  self -same  thing  they  will  abhor 
One  way,  and  long  another  for: 
Free-will  they  one  way  disavow. 
Another,  nothing  else  allow: 
All  piety  consists  therein 
In  them,  in  other  men  all  sin: 
Rather  than  fail,  they  will  defy 
That  which  they  love  most  tenderly; 


272  Satire 

Quarrel  with  minc'd  pies  and  disparage 
Their  best  and  dearest  friend,  plum  porridge, 
Fat  pig  and  goose  itself  oppose, 
And  blaspheme  custard  through  the  nose. 

Samuel  Butler. 


HOLY  WILLIE'S  PRAYER 

0  THOU  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell, 
Wha,  as  it  pleases  best  Thysel, 
Sends  ane  to  Heaven,  an'  ten  to  Hell, 

A'  for  Thy  glory. 
And  no  for  onie  guid  or  ill 

They've  done  before  Thee! 

1  bless  and  praise  Thy  matchless  might. 
When  thousands  Thou  hast  left  in  night. 
That  I  am  here,  before  Thy  sight. 

For  gifts  an'  grace, 
A  burnin'  an'  a  shinin'  light 
To  a'  this  place. 

What  was  I,  or  my  generation. 
That  I  should  get  sic  exaltation! 
I,  wha  deserv'd  most  just  damnation. 

For  broken  laws 
Sax  thousand  years  ere  my  creation. 

Thro'  Adam's  cause. 

When  frae  my  mither's  womb  I  fell, 
Thou  might  hae  plung'd  me  deep  in  Hell, 
To  gnash  my  gooms,  to  weep  and  wail 

In  burnin'  lakes, 
Whare  damned  devils  roar  and  yell, 

Chain'd  to  their  stakes. 

Yet  T  am  here,  a  chosen  sample. 

To  show  Thy  grace  is  great  and  ample; 

I'm  here  a  pillar  o'  Thy  temple. 

Strong  as  a  rock, 
A  guide,  a  buckler,  an  example 

To  a'  Thy  flock! 


Holy  Willie's  Prayer  273 

But  yet,  O  Lord!  confess  I  must, 
At  times  I'm  fash'd  wi'  fleshly  lust; 
An'  sometimes,  too,  in  warldly  trust. 

Vile  self  gets  in; 
But  Thou  remembers  we  are  dust, 

Defil'd  wi'  sin. 

May  be  Thou  lets  this  fleshly  thorn 

Beset  Thy  servant  e'en  and  morn, 

Lest  he  owre  proud  and  high  should  turn 

That  he's  sae  gifted: 
If  sae.  Thy  han'  maun  e'en  be  borne 

Until  Thou  lift  it. 

Lord,  bless  Thy  chosen  in  this  place. 

For  here  Thou  has  a  chosen  race : 

But  God  confound  their  stubborn  face, 

An'  blast  their  name, 
Wha  bring  Thy  elders  to  disgrace 

An'  open  shame! 

Lord,  mind  Gawn  Hamilton's  deserts, 
He  drinks,  an'  swears,  an'  plays  at  cartes. 
Yet  has  sae  monie  takin'  arts, 

Wi'  great  and  sma', 
Frae  God's  ain  priest  the  people's  hearts 

He  steals  awa. 

An'  when  we  chasten'd  him  therefore. 
Thou  kens  how  he  bred  sic  a  splore, 
As  set  the  warld  in  a  roar 

O'  laughin'  at  us; — 
Curse  Thou  his  basket  and  his  store, 

Kail  an'  potatoes! 

Lord,  hear  my  earnest  cry  and  pray'r 

Against  the  Presbyt'ry  of  Ayr ! 

Thy  strong  right  hand,  Lord,  mak  it  bare 

Upo'  their  heads! 
Lord,  visit  them,  an'  dinna  spare, 

For  their  misdeeds! 


274  Satire 

O  Lord,  my  God !  that  glib-tongu'd  Aiken, 
My  vera  heart  and  saul  are  quakin' 
To  think  how  we  stood  sweatin',  shakih', 

An'  pish'd  wi'  dread, 
While  he  wi'  hingin'  lip  an'  snakin', 

Held  up  his  head. 

Lord,  in  Thy  day  o'  vengeance  try  him  1 
Lord,  visit  them  wha  did  employ  him, 
And  pass  not  in  Thy  mercy  by  them, 

Nor  hear  their  pray'r; 
But  for  Thy  people's  sake  destroy  them, 

An'  dinna  spare! 

But,  Lord,  remember  me  and  mine, 
Wi'  mercies  temp'ral  and  divine. 
That  I  for  grace  and  gear  may  shine, 

Excell'd  by  nane, 
An'  a'  the  glory  shall  be  Thine, 

Amen,  Amen! 

Robert  Burns. 


THE  LEARNED  NEGRO 

There  was  a  negro  preacher,  I  have  heard, 

In  Southern  parts  before  rebellion  stirred. 

Who  did  not  spend  his  strength  in  empty  sound; 

His  was  a  mind  deep-reaching  and  profound. 

Others  might  beat  the  air,  and  make  9.  noise, 

And  help  to  amuse  the  silly  girls  and  boys; 

But  as  for  him,  he  was  a  man  of  thought, 

Deep  in  theology,  although  untaught. 

He  could  not  read  or  write,  but  he  was  wise. 

And  knew  right  smart  how  to  extemporize. 

One  Sunday  morn,  when  hymns  and  prayers  were  said, 

The  preacher  rose  and  rubbing  up  his  head, 

"  Bredren  and  sisterin,  and  companions  dear, 

Our  preachment  for  to-day,  as  you  shall  hear, 

Will  be  ob  de  creation, — ob  de  plan 

On  which  God  fashioned  Adam,  de  fust  man. 


True  to  Poll  275 

When  God  made  Adam,  in  de  ancient  day, 

He  made  his  body  out  ob  earth  and  clay. 

He  shape  him  all  out  right,  den  by  and  by, 

He  set  him  up  again  de  fence  to  dry." 

*' Stop,"  said  a  voice;  and  straightway  there  arose 

An  ancient  negro  in  his  master's  clothes. 

'*  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  before  you  farder  go, 

One  little  thing  which  I  should  like  to  know. 

It  does  not  quite  get  through  dis  niggar's  har. 

How  came  dat  fence  so  nice  and  handy  dar?" 

Like  one  who  in  the  mud  is  tightly  stuck, 

Or  one  nonplussed,  astonished,  thunderstruck. 

The  preacher  looked  severely  on  the  pews. 

And  rubbed  his  hair  to  know  what  words  to  use: 

"  Bredren,"  said  he,  "dis  word  I  hab  to  say; 

De  preacher  can't  be  bothered  in  dis  way; 

For,  if  he  is,  it's  jest  as  like  as  not,     ^^ 

Our  whole  theology  will  be  upsot." 

Unknown. 


TRUE  TO  POLL 

I'll  sing  you  a  song,  not  very  long. 

But  the  story  somewhat  new, 
Of  William  Kidd,  who,  whatever  he  did. 

To  his  Poll  was  always  true. 

He  sailed  away  in  a  galliant  ship 

From  the  port  of  old  Bris/oZ, 

And  the  last  words  he  uttered. 
As  his  hankercher  he  fluttered, 
Were,  "  My  heart  is  true  to  Poll." 


His  heart  was  true  to  Poll, 
His  heart  was  true  to  Poll, 
It's  no  matter  what  you  do 
If  your  heart  be  only  true: 
And  his  heart  w;as  true  to  Poll. 


276  Satire 

Twas  a  wreck.    William,  on  shore  he  swam, 

And  looked  about  for  an  inn ; 
When  a  noble  savage  lady,  of  a  color  rather  shady, 

Came  up  with  a  kind  of  grin : 
"  Oh,  marry  me,  and  a  king  you'll  be, 
And  in  a  palace  loll; 

Or  we'll  eat  you  willy-nilly." 
So  he  gave  his  hand,  did  Billy, 
But  his  heart  was  true  to  Poll. 

Away  a  twelvemonth  sped,  and  a  happy  life  he  led 

As  the  King  of  the  Kikeryboos; 
His  paint  was  red  and  yellar,  and  he  used  a  big  umbrella, 

And  he  wore  a  pair  of  overshoes; 
He'd  corals  and  knives,  and  twenty-six  wives, 
Whose  beauties  I  cannot  here  extol; 
One  day  they  all  revolted, 
So  he  back  to  Bristol  bolted. 
For  his  heart  was  true  to  Poll. 

His  heart  was  true  to  Poll, 
His  heart  was  true  to  Poll, 

It's  no  matter  what  you  do 

If  your  heart  be  only  true: 
And  his  heart  was  true  to  Poll. 

F.  C.  Burnand. 


TRUST  IN  WOMEN 

When  these  things  following  be  done  to  our  intent, 
Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confident. 

When  nettles  in  winter  bring  forth  roses  red, 

And  all  manner  of  thorn  trees  bear  figs  naturally. 

And  geese  bear  pearls  in  every  mead, 
And  laurel  bear  cherries  abundantly. 
And  oaks  bear  dates  very  plenteously. 

And  kisks  give  of  honey  superfluence, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 


Trust  in  Women  277 

When  box  bear  paper  in  every  land  and  town, 

And  thistles  bear  berries  in  every  place, 
And  pikes  have  naturally  feathers  in  their  crown, 

And  bulls  of  the  sea  sing  a  good  bass, 

And  men  be  the  ships  fishes  trace, 
And  in  women  be  found  no  insipience, 
Then  put  them  in  trust  and  confidence. 


When  whitings  do  walk  forests  to  chase  harts, 
And  herrings  their  horns  in  forests  boldly  blow, 

And  marmsets  mourn  in  moors  and  lakes, 
And  gurnards  shoot  rooks  out  of  a  crossbow, 
And  goslings  hunt  the  wolf  to  overthrow. 

And  sprats  bear  spears  in  armes  of  defence. 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  swine  be  cunning  in  all  points  of  music. 
And  asses  be  doctors  of  every  science. 

And  cats  do  heal  men  by  practising  of  physic. 
And  buzzards  to  scripture  give  any  credence. 
And  merchants  buy  with  horn,  instead  of  groats  and  pence, 

And  pyes  be  made  poets  for  their  eloquence. 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  sparrows  build  churches  on  a  height. 
And  wrens  carry  sacks  unto  the  mill, 

And  curlews  carry  timber  houses  to  dight. 
And  fomalls  bear  butter  to  market  to  sell, 
And  woodcocks  bear  woodknives  cranes  to  kill, 

And  greenfinches  to  goslings  do  obedience. 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

When  crows  take  salmon  in  woods  and  parks. 

And  be  take  with  swifts  and  snails, 
And  camels  in  the  air  take  swallows  and  larks, 

And  mice  move  mountains  by  wagging  of  their  tails, 

And  shipmen  take  a  ride  instead  of  sails, 
And  when  wives  to  their  husbands  do  no  offence. 
Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 


278  Satire 

When  antelopes  surmount  eagles  in  flight. 

And  swans  be  swifter  than  hawks  of  the  tower, 

And  wrens  set  gos-hawks  by  force  and  might, 
And  muskets  make  verjuice  of  crabbes  sour, 
And  ships  sail  on  dry  land,  silt  give  flower, 

And  apes  in  Westminster  give  judgment  and  sentence, 

Then  put  women  in  trust  and  confidence. 

Unknown. 


THE  LITERAKY  LADY 

What  motley  cares  Gorilla's  mind  perplex, 
Whom  maids  and  metaphors  conspire  to  vex! 
In  studious  dishabille  behold  her  sit, 
A  lettered  gossip  and  a  household  wit; 
At  once  invoking,  though  for  different  views, 
Her  gods,  her  cook,  her  milliner  and  muse. 
Round  her  strewed  room  a  frippery  chaos  lies, 
A  checkered  wreck  of  notable  and  wise, 
Bills,  books,  caps,  couplets,  combs,  a  varied  mass, 
Oppress  the  toilet  and  obscure  the  glass; 
Unfinished  here  an  epigram  is  laid. 
And  there  a  mantua-maker's  bill  unpaid. 
There  new-born  plays  foretaste  the  town's  applause, 
There  dormant  patterns  pine  for  future  gauze. 
A  moral  essay  now  is  all  her  care, 
A  satire  next,  and  then  a  bill  of  fare. 
A  scene  she  now  projects,  and  now  a  dish; 
Here  Act  the  First,  and  here,  Remove  with  Fish. 
Now,  while  this  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolls. 
That  soberly  casts  up  a  bill  for  coals; 
Black  pins  and  daggers  in  one  leaf  she  sticks. 
And  tears,  and  threads,  and  bowls,  and  thimbles  mix. 

Richard  Drinsley  Sheridan. 


Twelve  Articles  279 


TWELVE  ARTICLES 

I 
Lest  it  may  more  quarrels  breed, 
I  will  never  hear  you  read. 

n 

By  disputing,  I  will  never, 

To  convince  you  once  endeavor. 

Ill 

When  a  paradox  you  stick  to. 
I  will  never  contradict  you. 

IV 

When  I  talk  and  you  are  heedless, 
I  will  show  no  anger  needless. 

V 

When  your  speeches  are  absurd, 
I  will  ne'er  object  a  word. 

VI 

When  you  furious  argue  wrong, 
I  will  grieve  and  hold  my  tongue. 

vn 

Not  a  jest  or  humorous  story 
Will  I  ever  tell  before  ye: 
To  bo  chidden  for  explaining. 
When  you  quite  mistake  the  meaning. 

VIII 

Never  more  will  T  suppose, 
You  can  taste  my  verse  or  prose. 

IX 

You  no  more  at  me  shall  fret. 
While  I  teach  and  yoti  forget. 

X 

You  shall  never  hear  me  thunder. 
When  you  blunder  on,  and  blunder.. 


280  Satire 


XI 

Show  your  poverty  of  spirit, 
And  in  dress  place  all  your  merit; 
Give  yourself  ten  thousand  airs: 
That  with  me  shall  break  no  squares. 

XII 

Never  will  I  give  advice, 
Till  you  please  to  ask  me  thrice : 
Which  if  you  in  scorn  reject, 
'T  will  be  just  as  I  expect. 

Thus  we  both  shall  have  our  ends 
And  continue  special  friends. 

Dean  Swift. 


ALL-SAINTS 

In  a  church  which  is  furnish'd  with  mullion  and  gable, 
With  altar  and  reredos,  with  gargoyle  and  groin, 

The  penitents'  dresses  are  sealskin  and  sable, 
The  odour  of  sanctity's  eau-de-Cologne. 

But  only  could  Lucifer,  flying  from  Hades, 

Gaze  down  on  this  crowd  with  its  panniers  and  paints, 

He  would  say,  as  he  look'd  at  the  lords  and  the  ladies, 
"  Oh,  where  is  All-Sinners',  if  this  is  All-Saints'? " 

Edmund  Yates. 


HOW  TO  MAKE  A  MAN  OF  CONSEQUENCE 

A  BROW  austere,  a  circumspective  eye. 
A  frequent  shrug  of  the  os  humeri; 
A  nod  significant,  a  stately  gait, 
A  blustering  manner,  and  a  tone  of  weight, 
A  smile  sarcastic,  an  expressive  stare: 
Adopt  all  these,  as  time  and  place  will  bear; 
Then  rest  assur'd  that  those  of  little  sense 
Will  deem  you  sure  a  man  of  consequence. 

Mark  Lemon. 


Paradise  281 

ON  A  MAGAZINE  SONNET 

"  Scorn  not  the  sonnet,"  though  its  strength  be  sapped, 
Nor  say  malignant  its  inventor  blundered; 

The  corpse  that  here  in  fourteen  lines  is  wrapped 
Had  otherwise  been  covered  with  a  hundred. 

Russell  Hilliard  Loines. 


PAKADISE 

A  HINDOO   LEGEND 

A  HINDOO  died — a  happy  thing  to  do 

When  twenty  years  united  to  a  shrew. 

Released,  he  hopefully  for  entrance  cries 

Before  the  gates  of  Brahma's  Paradise. 

'*  Hast  been  through  Purgatory?"  Brahma  said. 

"I  have  been  married,"  and  he  hung  his  head. 

^'  Come  in,  come  in,  and  welcome,  too,  my  son ! 

Marriage  and  Purgatory  are  as  one." 

In  bliss  extreme  he  entered  heaven's  door. 

And  knew  the  peace  he  ne'er  had  known  before. 

He  scarce  had  entered  in  the  Garden  fair, 

Another  Hindoo  asked  admission  there. 

The  self-same  question  Brahma  asked  again : 

"  Hast  been  through  Purgatory  ?  "    '*  No ;  what  then  ?  " 

''  Thou  canst  not  enter!  "  did  the  god  reply. 

*'  He  that  went  in  was  no  more  there  than  I." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  but  he  has  married  been. 

And  so  on  earth  has  suffered  for  all  sin." 

"  Married?    'Tis  well;  for  I've  been  married  twice!  " 

"  Begone !    We'll  have  no  fools  in  Paradise !  " 

George  Birdseye. 


282  Satire 

THE  FKIAR  OF  ORDERS  GRAY 

I  AM  a  friar  of  orders  gray. 

And  down  in  the  valleys  1  take  my  way; 

I  pull  not  blackberry,  haw,  or  hip; 

Good  store  of  venison  fills  my  scrip; 

My  long  bead-roll  I  merrily  chant; 

Where'er  I  walk  no  money  1  want; 

And  why  I'm  so  plump  the  reason  I  tell : 

Who  leads  a  good  life  is  sure  to  live  well. 
What  baron  or  squire. 
Or  knight  of  the  shire, 
Lives  half  so  well  as  a  holy  friar? 
.    After  supper,  of  heaven  I  dream, 

But  that  is  a  pullet  and  clouted  cream; 

Myself  by  denial  I  mortify — 

With  a  dainty  bit  of  a  warden-pie; 

Fm  clothed  in  sackcloth  for  my  sin — 

With  old  sack  wine  Fm  lined  within; 

A  chirping  cup  is  my  matin  song, 

And  the  vesper's  bell  is  my  bowl,  ding-dong. 
What  baron  or  squire. 
Or  knight  of  the  shire, 
Lives  half  so  well  as  a  holy  friar? 

John  O'Keefe. 

OF  A  CERTAIN  MAN 
There  was  (not  certain  when)  a  certain  preacher 
That  never  learned,  and  yet  became  a  teacher, 
Who,  having  read  in  Latin  thus  a  text 
Of  erat  quidam  homo,  much  perplexed. 
He  seemed  the  same  with  study  great  to  scan, 
In  English  thus,  There  was  a  certain  man. 
"  But  now,"  quoth  he,  "  good  people,  note  you  this, 
He  said  there  was:  he  doth  not  say  there  is; 
For  in  these  days  of  ours  it  is  most  plain 
Of  promise,  oath,  word,  deed,  no  man's  certain; 
Yet  by  my  text  you  see  it  comes  to  pass 
That  surely  once  a  certain  man  there  was; 
But  yet,  I  think,  in  all  your  Bible  no  man 
Can  find  this  text.  There  was  a  certain  woman." 

Sir  John  Harrington. 


i 


Clean  Clara  283 


CLEAN  CLAKA 

What!  not  know  our  Clean  Clara? 
Why,  the  hot  folks  in  Sahara, 
And  the  cold  Esquimaux, 
Our  little  Clara  knows! 
Clean  Clara,  the  Poet  sings. 
Cleaned  a  hundred  thousand  things! 

She  cleaned  tho  keys  of  the  harpsichord, 

She  cleaned  the  hilt  of  the  family  sword. 

She  cleaned  my  lady,  she  cleaned  my  lord. 

All  the  pictures  in  their  frames. 

Knights  with  daggers  and  stomachered  dames — 

Cecils,  Godfreys,  Montforts,  Graemes, 

Winifreds — all  those  nice  old  names! 

She  cleaned  the  works  of  the  eight-day  clock, 

Sh(3  cleaned  the  spring  of  a  secret  lock, 

She  cleaned  the  mirror,  she  cleaned  the  cupboard. 

All  the  books  she  India-rubbered! 

She  cleaned  the  Dutch  tiles  in  the  place, 

She  cleaned  some  very  old-fashioned  lace; 

The  Countess  of  Miniver  came  to  her, 

"Pray,  my  dear,  will  you  clean  my  fur?" 

All  her  cleanings  are  admirable, 

To  count  your  teeth  you  will  be  able. 

If  you  look  in  the  walnut  table. 

She  cleaned  the  tent-stitch  and  the  sampler, 
She  cleaned  the  tapestry,  which  was  ampler; 
Joseph  going  down  into  the  pit. 
And  the  Shunammite  woman  with  the  boy  in  a  fit. 

You  saw  the  reapers,  not  in  the  distance. 

And  Elisha,  coming  to  the  child's  assistance, 

With  the  house  on  the  wall  that  was  built  for  tho  prophet. 

The  chair,  the  bed  and  the  bolster  of  it. 

The  eyebrows  all  had  a  twirl  reflective, 

Just  like  an  eel :  to  spare  invective 

There  was  plenty  of  color  but  no  perspective. 


284  Satire 

However,  Clara  cleaned  it  all, 
With  a  curious  lamp,  that  hangs  in  the  hall; 
She  cleaned  the  drops  of  the  chandeliers, 
Madam,  in  mittens,  was  moved  to  tears. 

She  cleaned  the  cage  of  the  cockatoo, 
The  oldest  bird  that  ever  grew; 
I  should  say  a  thousand  years  old  would  do. 
I'm  sure  he  looked  it,  but  nobody  knew; 
She  cleaned  the  china,  she  cleaned  the  delf. 
She  cleaned  the  baby,  she  cleaned  herself! 

Tomorrow  morning,  she  means  to  try 
To  clean  the  cobwebs  from  the  sky; 
Some  people  say  the  girl  will  rue  it, 
But  my  belief  is  she  will  do  it. 

So  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  be  there  to  see 
There's  a  beautiful  place  in  the  walnut  tree; 
The  bough  is  as  firm  as  a  solid  rock; 
She  brings  out  her  broom  at  six  o'clock. 

W.  B.  Rands. 


CHRISTMAS  CHIMES 

Little  Penelope  Socrates, 

A  Boston  maid  of  four. 
Wide  opened  her  eyes  on  Christmas  mom. 

And  looked  the  landscape  o'er. 
**  What  is  it  inflates  my  has  de  hleuf" 

She  asked  with  dignity; 
"  'Tis  Ibsen  in  the  original ! 

Oh,  joy  beyond  degree!  " 

Miss  Mary  Cadwallader  Rittenhouse 

Of  Philadelphia  town. 
Awoke  as  much  as  they  ever  do  there 

And  watched  the  snow  come  down. 
"  I'm  glad  that  it  is  Christmas," 

You  might  have  heard  her  say, 
"  For  my  family  is  one  year  older  now 

Than  it  was  last  Christmas  day." 


The  Ruling  Passion  285 

Twas  Christmas  in  giddy  Gotham, 

And  Miss  Irene  dc  Jones 
Awoko  at  noon  and  yawned  and  yawned, 

And  stretched  her  languid  bones. 
"  I'm  sorry  it  is  Christmas, 

Papa  at  home  will  stay, 
For  'Change  is  closed  and  he  won't  make 

A  single  cent  to-day." 

Windily  dawned  the  Christmas 

On  the  city  by   the  lake, 
And   Miss   Arabel   Wabash  Breezy 
Was  instantly  awake. 
"What's  that  thing  in   my  stocking? 
Well,  in  two  jiffs  Pll   know!" 
xVnd  she  drew  a  grand  piano  forth 
From  Vay  down  in  the  toe. 

Unknown. 


THE   RULING   PASSION 

From  "  Moral  Essays,"  Epistle  I 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priests  attend. 
Still  tries  to  save  the  hallowed  taper's  end. 
Collects  her  breath,   as  ebbing  life  retires. 
For  one  puff  more,  and  in  that  puff  expires. 

"Odious!  in  woollen!  'twould  a  saint  provoke," 
Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa  spoke; 
"No,  let  a  charming  chintz  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  lifeless  face: 
One   would   not,   sure,  be  frightful  when   one's   dead, — 
And — Betty — give  this  cheek  a  little  red." 

The  courtier  smooth,  who  forty  years  had   shined 
An  humble  servant  to  all  humankind, 
Just  brought  out  this,  when  scarce  his  tongue  could  stir, 
"If — where  I'm  going — I  could  serve  you,  sir?" 

"I  give  and   I  devise"   (old  EucHo  said. 
And  sighed)   "  my  lands   and   tenements  to   Ned." 


286  Satire 

Your  money,  sir?    "My  money,  sir!     What,  all? 
Why— if  I  must"   (then  wept)— "  I  give  it  Paul." 
The  manor,  sir?     "The  manor,  hold  I"  he  cried, 
"Not  that, — I  cannot  part  with   that,"— and   died. 

Alexander  Pope. 


THE  POPE  AND  THE  NET 

What,  he  on  whom  our  voices  unanimously  ran, 

Made  Pope  at  our  last  Conclave?    Full  low  his  life  began: 

His  father  earned  the  daily  bread  as  just  a  fisherman. 

So   much   the   more   his   boy   minds   book,    gives   proof   of 

mother-wit, 
Becomes   first  Deacon,   and   then   Priest,   then   Bishop:   see 

him  sit 
No  less  than  Cardinal  ere  long,  while  no  one  cries  "  Unfit ! " 

But  some  one  smirks,   some  other  smiles,  jogs  elbow  and 

nods  head; 
Each  wings  at  each:  "F  faith,  a  rise  I     Saint  Peter's  net, 

instead 
Of  sword  and  keys,  is  come  in  vogue ! "     You   think   he 

blushes  red? 

Not  he,  of  humble  holy  heart!  "Unworthy  me!"  he  sighs: 
"From  fisher's  drudge  to*  Church's  prince — it  is  indeed  a 

rise: 
So,  here's  my  way  to  keep  the  fact  forever  in  my  eyes ! " 

And  straightway  in  his  palace-hall,  where  commonly  is  set 
Some  coat-of-arms,  some  portraiture  ancestral,  lo,  we  met 
His  mean  estate's  reminder  in  his  fisher-father's  net! 

Which  step  conciliates  all  and  some,  stops  cavil  in  a  trice:! 
"The  humble  holy  heart  that  holds  of  new-born  pride  no* 

spice! 
He's  just  the  saint  to  choose  for  Pope!"    Each  adds,  "'Tisj 

my  advice." 


The  Lost  Spectacles  287 

So  Popo  he  was:  and  when  we  flocked — its  sacred  slipper 

on — 
To  kiss  his  foot,  we  lifted  eyes,  alack,  the  thing  was  gone — 
That    guarantee    of    lowlihead, — eclipsed    that    star    which 

shone ! 

Each  eyed  his  fellow,   one  and  all  kept  silence.     I  cried 

"Pish! 
I'll  make  me  spokesman  for  the  rest,  express  the  common 

wish. 
.Why,  Father,  is  the  net  removed  ? "     "  Son,  it  hath  caught 

the  fish." 

Robert  Browning. 


AN  ACTOR 

A  SHABBY  fellow  chanced  one  day  to  meet 
The  British  Roscius  in  the  street, 

Garrick,   of  whom   our  nation   justly  brags; 
The  fellow  hugged  him  with  a  kind  embrace; — 
"  Good  sir,  I  do  not  recollect  your  face," 

Quoth  Garrick.     "No?"  replied  the  man  of  rags; 
"The  boards  of  Drury  you  and  I  have  trod 
Full  many  a  time  together,  I  am  sure." 
"When?"  with  an  oath,  cried  Garrick,  "for,  by  G— d, 
I  never  saw  that  face  of  yours  before! 
What  characters,  I  pray. 
Did  you  and  I  together  play?" 
"  Lord  1  "  quoth  the  fellow,  "  think  not  that  I  mock — 
When  you  played  Hamlet,  sir,  I  played  the  cock ! " 

John  Wolcot, 


THE  LOST   SPECTACLES 

A  COUNTRY  curate,  visiting  his  flock, 

At  old  Rebecca's  cottage  gave  a  knock. 

"  Good  morrow,  dame,  I  mean  not  any  libel, 

But  in  your  dwelling  have  you  got  a  Bible?" 


288  Satire 

"A  Bible,  sir?"  exclaimed  she  in  a  rage, 

"D'ye  think  IVe  turned  a  Pagan  in  my  age? 

Here,  Judith,  and  run  upstairs,  my  dear, 

'Tis  in  the  drawer,  be  quick  and  bring  it  here." 

The  girl  return'd  with  Bible  in  a  minute. 

Not  dreaming  for  a  moment  what  was  in  it; 

"When  lol  on  opening  it  at  parlor  door, 

Down  fell  her  spectacles  upon  the  floor. 

Amaz'd  she  stared,  was  for  a  moment  dumb, 

But  quick  exclaim'd,  "  Dear  sir,  I'm  glad  you're  come. 

'Tis  six  years  since  these  glasses  first  were  lost, 

And  I  have  miss'd  'em  to  my  poor  eyes'   cost!" 

Then  as  the  glasses  to  her  nose  she  raised. 

She  closed  the  Bible — saying,  "  God  be  praised  I  " 

Unknown. 


THAT  TEXAN  CATTLE  MAN 

We  rode  the  tawny  Texan  hills, 

A  bearded  cattle  man  and  I; 
Below  us  laughed  the  blossomed  rills. 

Above  the  dappled   clouds  blew  by. 
We  talked.     The  topic?     Guess.     Why,  sir. 

Three-fourths  of  man's  whole  time  he  keeps 
To  talk,  to  think,  to  he  of  her; 

The  other  fourth  he  sleeps. 

To  learn  what  he  might  know  of  love, 

I  laughed  all  constancy  to  scorn. 
"Behold  yon  happy,  changeful  dove! 

Behold  this  day,  all  storm  at  morn, 
Yet  now  't  is  changed  to  cloud  and  sun. 

Yea,  all  things  change — the  heart,  the  head. 
Behold  on  earth  there  is  not  one 

That  changeth  not,"  I  said. 

He  drew  a  glass  as  if  to  scan  , 

The  plain  for  steers;  raised  it  and  sighed. 

He  craned  his  neck,  this  cattle  man, 
Then  drove  the  cork  home  and  replied: 


That  Texan  Cattle  Man  289 

"For  twenty  years  (forgive  these  tears) — 

For  twenty  years  no  word  of  strife — 
I  have  not  known  for  twenty  years 

One  folly  from  my  wife." 


I  looked  that  Texan  in  the  face — 

That  dark-browed,  bearded  cattle  man, 
He  pulled  his  beard,  then  dropped  in  place 

A  broad  right  hand,  all  scarred  and  tan, 
And   toyed  with  something  shining  there 

From  out  his  holster,  keen  and  small. 
I  was  convinced.     I  did  not  care 

To  argue  it  at  all. 


But  rest  I  could  not.     Know  1  must 
The  story  of  my  Texan  guide; 

His   dauntless  love,   enduring  trust; 
His  blessed,  immortal  bride. 

I  v7ondered,  marvelled,  marvelled  much. 
Was  she  of  Texan  growth?     Was  she 

Of  Saxon  blood,  that  boasted  such 
Eternal  constancy? 


I  could  not  rest  until  I  knew — 

"  Now  twenty  years,  my   man,"  said  T, 
"  Is  a  long  time."    He  turned  and  drew 

A  pistol  forth,  also  a  sigh. 
"  'Tis  twenty  years  or  more,"  said  he, 

'*  Nay,  nay,  my  honest  man,  I  vow 
I  do  not  doubt  that  this  may  be; 

But  tell,  oh!  tell  me  how. 


"  'Twould  make  a  poem  true  and  grand ; 

All  time  should  note  it  near  and  far; 
And  thy  fair,  virgin  Texan  land 

Should  stand  out  like  a  Winter  star. 


290  Satire 

America  should  heed.    And  then 

The  doubtful  French  beyond  the  sea — 

'T  would  make  them  truer,  nobler  men 
To  know  how  this  may  be." 

"  It's  twenty  years  or  more,"  urged  he, 

"Nay,  that  I  know,  good  guide  of  mine; 
But  lead  me  where  this  wife  may  be. 

And  I  a  pilgrim  at  a  shrine. 
And  kneeling,  as  a  pilgrim  true" — 

He,  scowling,  shouted  in  my  ear ; 
"  I  cannot  show  my  wife  to  you ; 

She's  dead  this  twenty  year." 


Joaquin  Miller. 


FABLE 


The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel. 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  "Little  Prig"; 

Bun   replied, 

"You  are  doubtless  Tery  big; 

But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 

Must  be  taken  in  together. 

To  make  up  a  year 

And  a  sphere. 

And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 

To  occupy  my  place. 

If  I'm  not  so  large  as  you, 

You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 

And  not  half  so  spry. 

I'll  not  deny  you  make 

A  very  pretty  squirrel  track; 

Talents  dififer;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put; 

If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 

Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut." 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


Hoch!    Der  Kaiser  291 


HOCH!  DER  KAISER 

Der  Kaiser  of  dis  Faterland 
Und  Gott  on  high  all  dings  command, 
Ve  two — ach!     Don't  you  understand? 
Myself — und  Gott. 

Vile  some  men  sing  der  power  divine, 
Mine  soldiers  sing,  "  Der  Wacht  am  Rhine," 
Und  drink  der  health  in  Rhenish  wine 
Of  Me— und  Gott. 

Dere's  France,  she  swaggers  all  aroundt; 
She's   ausgespield,  of  no  account, 
To  much  we  think  she  don't  amount; 
Myself — und  Gott. 

She  vill  not  dare  to  fight  again, 
But  if  she  shouldt,  I'll  show  her  blain 
Dot  Elsass  und   (in  French)  Lorraine 
Are  mein — by  Gott! 

Dere's  grandma  dinks  she's  nicht  small  beer, 
Mit  Boers  und  such  she  interfere; 
She'll  leiam  none  owns  dis  hemisphere 
But  me — und  Gott! 

She  dinks,  good  frau,  fine  ships  she's  got 
Und  soldiers  mit  der  scarlet  goat. 
Ach !     We  could  knock  them !    Pouf !    Like  dot, 
Myself— mit  Gott! 

In  dimes  of  peace,  brebaie  for  wars, 
I  bear  the  spear  and  helm  of  Mars, 
Und  care  not  for  a  thousand   Czars, 
Myself— mit  Gott! 

In  fact,  I  humor  efery  whim. 
With   aspect  dark   and   visage  grim; 
Gott  pulls  mit  Me,  and  I  mit  him, 
Myself — und   Gott! 

Rodney  Blak€. 


292  Satire 


WHAT  MK.  ROBINSON  THINKS 

GiNERAL  B.  is  a  sensible  man; 

He  stays  to  his  home  an'  looks  arter  his  folks; 
He  draws  his  furrer  ez  straight  ez  he  can, 
An'   into  nobody's  tater-patch  pokes; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson,   he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  for  Gineral  B. 


My!  ain't  it  terrible?     Wut  shall  we  do? 

We  can't  never  choose  him,  o'  course — that's  flat: 
Guess  we  shall  hev  to  come  round   (don't  you?), 
An'  go  in  for  thunder  an'  guns,  an'  all  that; 
Fer  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  he  wunt  vote  for  Gineral  B. 


Gineral  C.  is  a  dreffle  smart  man: 

He's  been  on  all  sides  that  give  places  or  pelf; 
But  consistency  still  was  a  part  of  his  plan — 
He's  been  true  to  one  party,  and  that  is  himself; 
So  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 


Gineral  C.  goes  in  for  the  war; 

He  don't  vally  principle  mor'n  an  old  cud; 

What  did  God  make  us  raytional  creeturs  fer, 

But  glory  an'  gunpowder,  plunder  an'  blood? 

So  John  P. 

Robinson,  he 

Sez  he  shall  vote  fer  Gineral  C. 

We're  gettin'  on  nicely  up  here  to  our  village, 

With  good  old  idees  o'  wut's  right  an'  wut  ain't; 
We  kind  o'  thought  Christ  went  against  war  and  pillage. 


What  Mr.  Robinson  Thinks  293 

An'  that  eppyletts  wom't  the  best  mark  of  a  saint; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson,   he 
Sez  this  kind  o'  thing's  an  exploded  idee. 

The  side  of  our  country  must  oilers  be  took, 

An'  President  Pulk,  you  know,  he  is  our  country; 
An'  the  angel  that  writes  all  our  sins  in  a  book, 
Puts  the  debit  to  him,  an'  to  us  the  per  contry; 
An'  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  this  is  his  view  o'  the  thing  to  a  T. 

Parson  Wilbur  he  calls  all  these  arguments  lies; 

Sez  they're  nothin'  on  airth  but  jest  fee,  jaw,  fum; 
An'  that  all  this  big  talk  of  our  destinies 

Is  half  on  it  ignorance,  an'  t'other  half  rum; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  it  ain't  no  such  thing;  an',  of  course,  so  must  we. 

Parson  Wilbur  sez  he  never  heered  in  his  life 

Thet  the  Apostles  rigg'd  out  in  their  swallow-tail  coats. 
An'  marched  round  in  front  of  a  drum  an'  a  fife, 
To  git  some  on  'em  office,  an'  some  on  'em  votes; 
But  John  P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  they  didn't  know  everythin'  down  in  Judee. 

Wal,  it's  a  marcy  we're  gut  folks  to  tell  us 

The  rights  an'  the  wrongs  o'  these  matters,  I  vow — 
God  sends  country  lawyers  an'  other  wise  fellers 
To  drive  the  world's  team  wen  it  gits  in  a  slough; 
For   John   P. 
Robinson,  he 
Sez  the  world'U  go  right,  ef  he  hollers  out  Gee! 

James  Russell  Lozvell. 


294*  Satire 


^  THE  CANDIDATE'S  CREED 

BIGLOW    PAPERS 

I  DU  believe  in  Freedom's  cause, 

Ez  fur  away  ez  Paris  is; 
I  love  to  see  her  stick  her  claws 

In   them   infarnal   Pharisees; 
It's  wal   enough  agin  a  king 

To  dror  resolves  and  triggers, — 
But  libbaty's  a  kind  o'  thing 

Thet  don't  agree  with  niggers. 

I  du  believe  the  people  want 

A  tax  on  teas  and  coffees, 
Thet  nothin'  ain't  extravygunt, — 

Purvidin'  I'm  in  office; 
For  I  hev  loved  my  country  sence 

My  eye-teeth  filled  their  sockets, 
An'  Uncle   Sam  I  reverence, 

Partic'larly  his  pockets. 

I  du  believe  in  any  plan 

O*  levyin'  the  taxes, 
Ez  long  ez,  like  a  lumberman, 

I   git  jest  wut  I   axes: 
I  go  free-trade  thru  thick  an'  thin. 

Because  it  kind  o'  rouses 
The  folks  to  vote — and  keep  us  in 

Our  quiet  custom-houses. 

I  du  believe  it's  wise  an'  good 

To  sen'  out  furrin  missions, 
Thet  is,  on  sartin  understood 

An'  orthydox  conditions; — 
I  mean  nine  thousan'  dolls,  per   ann.. 

Nine  thousan'  more  fer  outfit. 
An'  me  to  recommend  a  man 

The  place  'ould  jest  about  fit. 


The  Candidate's  Creed  296 

I  du  believe  in  special  ways 

O'  prayin'  an'  convartin'; 
The  bread  comes  back  in  many  days, 

An'   buttered,  tu,  fer  sartin; — 
I  mean  in  preyin'  till  one  busts 

On  wut  the  party  chooses, 
An'  in  convartin'  public  trusts 

To  very  privit  uses. 

I  do  believe  hard  coin  the  stuff 

Fer  'lectioneers  to  spout  on; 
The  people's  oilers  soft  enough 

To  make  hard  money  out  on; 
Dear  Uncle  Sam  pervides  fer  his. 

An'  gives  a  good-sized  junk  to  all — 
I  don't  care  how  hard  money  is, 

Ez  long  ez  mine's  paid  punctooal. 

I  du  believe  with  all  my  soul 

In  the  gret  Press's  freedom. 
To  pint  the  people  to  the  goal 

An'   in  the  traces  lead  'em: 
Palsied  the  arm  thet  forges  yokes 

At  my  fat  contracts  squintin'. 
An'  withered  be  the  nose  thet  pokes 

Inter  the  gov'ment  printin'! 

I  du  believe  thet  I  should  give 

Wut's  his'n  unto   Caesar, 
Fer  it's  by  him  I  move  an'  live, 

From  him  my  bread  an'  cheese  air. 
I  du  believe  thet  all  o'  me 

Doth  bear  his  souperscription, — 
Will,  conscience,  honor,  honesty. 

An'  things  o'  thet  description. 

I  du  believe  in  prayer  an'  praise 

To  him  thet  hez  the  grantin' 
O'  jobs — in  every  thin'  thet  pays. 

But  most  of  all  in  Cantin'; 


296  Satire 

This  doth  my  cup  with  marcies  fill, 
This  lays  all  thought  o'  sin  to  rest — 

I  don't  believe  in  princerple, 
But,  O,  I  du  in  interest. 

I  du  believe  in  bein'  this 

Or  thet,  ez  it  may  happen 
One  way,  or  t'  other  hendiest  is 

To  ketch  the  people  nappin'; 
It  ain't  by  princerples  nor  men 

My  preudent  course  is  steadied — 
I  scent  wich  pays  the  best,  an'  then 

Go  into  it  baldheaded. 

I  du  believe  thet  holdin'  slaves 

Comes  nat'ral  tu  a  President, 
Let  'lone  the  rowdedow  it  saves 

To  have  a  wal-broke  precedunt; 
Fer  any  office,  small  or  gret, 

I  couldn't  -ax  with  no  face, 
Without  I'd  been,  thru  dry  an'  wet. 

The  unrrzziest  kind  o'  doughface. 

I  du  believe  wutever  trash 

'11  keep  the  people  in  blindness, — 
Thet  we  the  Mexicans  can  thrash 

Right  inter  brotherly  kindness — 
Thet  bombshells,  grape,  an'  powder  V  ball 

Air  good-will's  strongest  magnets — 
Thet  peace,  to  make  it  stick  at  all. 

Must  be  druv  in  with  bagnets. 

In  short,  I  firmly  du  believe 

In  Humbug  generally, 
Fer  it's  a  thing  thet  I  perceive 

To  hev  a  solid  vally; 
This  heth  my  faithful  shepherd  ben, 

In  pastures  sweet  heth  led  me, 
An'  this'll  keep  the  people  green 

To  feed  ez  they  have  fed  me. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


The  Razor  Seller  297 


THE  RAZOR  SELLER 

A  FELLOW   in   a  market  town, 

Most  musical,  cried  razors  up  and  down, 

And  offered  twelve  for  eighteen-pence ; 
Which  certainly  seemed  wondrous  cheap, 
And  for  the  money  quite  a  heap. 

As  every  man  would  buy,  with  cash  and  sense. 

A  country  bumpkin  the  great  offer  heard: 

Poor  Hodge,  who  suffered  by  a  broad  black  beard, 

That  seemed  a  shoe-brush  stuck  beneath  his  nose 
With  cheerfulness  the  eighteen-pence  he  paid. 
And  proudly  to  himself,  in  whispers,  said, 

"This  rascal  stole  the  razors,  I  suppose. 

"No  matter  if  the  fellow  he  a  knave. 
Provided  that  the  razors  shave; 

It  certainly  will  be  a  monstrous  prize." 
So  home  the  clown,  with  his  good  fortune,  went. 
Smiling  in  heart  and  soul,  content,  f 

And  quickly  soaped  himself  to  ears  and  eyes.  ^ 

Being  well  lathered  from  a  dish  or  tub, 

Hodge  now  began  with  grinning  pain  to  grub. 

Just  like  a  hedger  cutting  furze: 
'Twas  a  vile  razor! — then  the  rest  he  tried — 
All  were  impostors — "Ah,"  Hodge  sighed! 

"I  wish  my  eighteen-pence  within  my  purse." 

In  vain  to  chase  his  beard,  and  bring  the  graces. 

He  cut,  and  dug,  and  winced,  and  stamped,  and  swore, 

Brought  blood,   and  danced,  blasphemed,  and  made  wry 
faces. 
And  cursed  each  razor's  body  o'er  and  o'er: 

His  muzzle,  formed  of  opposition  stuff. 
Firm  as  a  Foxite,  would  not  lose  its  ruff! 

So  kept  it — laughing  at  the  steel  and  suds: 
Hodge,  in  a  passion,  stretched  his  angry  jaws. 


298  Satire 

Vowing  the  direst  yengeance,  with  clenched  claws, 

On  the  vile  cheat  that  sold  the  goods. 
"  Razors ;  a  damned,  confounded  dog, 
Not  fit  to  scrape  a  hog!" 

Hodge  sought  the  fellow — ^found  him — and  begun: 
"  P'rhaps,  Master  Razor  rogue,  to  you  'tis  fun, 
That  people  flay  themselves  out  of  their  lives: 
You  rascal!  for  an  hour  have  I  been  grubbing, 
Giving  my  crying  whiskers  here  a  scrubbing, 

With  razors  just  like  oyster  knives. 
Sirrah!  I  tell  you,  you're  a  knave, 
To  cry  up  razors  that  can't  shave." 
"  Friend,"  quoth  the  razor-man,  *'  I'm  not  a  knave. 
As  for  the  razors  you  have  bought, 
Upon  my  soul  I  never  thought 
That  they  would  shave/' 
"Not  think  they'd  shave!"  quoth  Hodge,  with  wond'ring 
eyes. 
And  voice  not  much  unlike  an  Indian  yell; 
"What  were  they  made  for  then,  you  dog?"  he  cries: 
"  Made !  "  quoth  the  fellow,  with  a  smile — "  to  selV* 
\  John  Wolcot. 


THE  DEVIL'S  WALK  ON  EARTH 

From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day 

A  walking  the  Devil  is  gone. 
To  look  at  his  snug  little  farm  of  the  World, 

And  see  how  his  stock  went  on. 

Over  the  hill  and  over  the  dale. 

And  he  went  over  the  plain; 
And  backward  and  forward  he  swish'd  his  tail 

As  a  gentleman  swishes  a  cane. 

How  then  was  the  Devil  drest? 

Oh,  he  was  in  his  Sunday's  best 
His  coat  was  red  and  his  breeches  were  blue, 
And  there  was  a  hole  where  his  tail  came  through. 


The  Devil's  Walk  on  Earth  299 

A  lady  drove  by  in  her  pride, 

In  whose  face  an  expression  he  spied 

For  which  he  could  have  kiss'd  her; 
Such  a  flourishing,  fine,  clever  woman  was  she, 
With  an  eye  as  wicked  as  wicked  can  be, 
I  should  take  her  for  my  Aunt,  thought  he, 

If  my  dam  had  had  a   sister. 

He  met  a  lord  of  high  degree. 
No  matter  what  was  his  name; 
Whose  face  with  his  own  when  he  came  to  compare 
The  expression,   the  look,   and   the  air, 
And  the  character,  too,  as  it  seem'd  to  a  hair — 
Such   a  twin-likeness  there  was  in   the  pair 
That  it  made  the  Devil  start  and  stare 
For  he  thought  there  was  surely  a  looking-glass  there, 
But  he  could  not  see  the  frame. 


He  saw  a  Lawyer  killing  a  viper. 
On  a  dung-hill  beside  his  stable; 

Ha!  quoth  he,  thou  put'st  me  in  mind 
Of  the  story  of  Cain  and  Abel. 

An  Apothecary  on  a  white  horse 

Rode  by  on  his  vocation; 
And  the  Devil  thought  of  his  old  friend 

Death  in  the  Revelation. 

He  pass'd  a  cottage  with  a  double  coach-house, 

A  cottage  of  gentility. 
And  he  ownM  with  a  grin 
That  his  favorite  sin. 

Is  pride  that  apes  humility. 

He  saw  a  pig  rapidly 

Down  a  river  float; 
The  pig  swam  well,  but  every  stroke 

Was  cutting  his  own  throat; 


300  Satire 

And  Satan  gave  thereat  his  tail 

A  twirl   of   admiration; 
For  he  thought  of  his  daughter  War, 

And  her  suckling  babe  Taxation. 

Well  enough,  in  sooth,  he  liked  that  truth 
And  nothing  the  worse  for  the  jest; 

But  this  was   only   a  first  thought 
And  in  this  he  did  not  rest: 

Another  came  presently  into  his  head, 

And  here  it  proved,  as  has  often  been  said 
That  second  thoughts,  are  best. 

For  as  Piggy  plied  with  wind  and  tide, 

His  way  with  such  celerity, 
And  at  every  stroke  the  water  dyed 
With  his  own  red  blood,  the  Devil  cried. 
Behold  a  swinish  nation^s  pride 

In  cotton-spun   prosperity. 

He  walk'd  into  London  leisurely. 

The  streets  were  dirty  and  dim: 
But  there  he  saw  Brothers   the  Prophet, 

And  Brothers  the  Prophet  saw  him. 

He  entered  a  thriving  bookseller's  shop; 

Quoth  he,  we  are  both  of  one  college, 
For  I  myself  sate  like  a  Cormorant  once 

Upon  the  Tree  of  Knowledge. 

As  he  passed  through  Cold-Bath  Fields  he  look'd 

At  a  solitary  cell; 
And  he  was  well-pleased,  for  it  gave  him  a  hint 

For  improving   the   prisons   of   Hell. 

He  saw  a  turnkey  tie  a  thief's  hands 

With  a  cordial   tug  and  jerk; 
Nimbly,   quoth   he,   a   man's   fingers   move 

When  his  heart  is  in  his  work. 


The  Devil's  Walk  on  Earth  301 

He  saw  the  same  turnkey  unfettering  a  man 

With  little  expedition; 
And  he  chuckled  to  think  of  his  dear  slave-trade, 
And  the  long  debates  and  delays  that  were  made. 

Concerning   its   abolition. 

He  met  one   of  his  favorite  daughters 

By   an   Evangelical   Meeting: 
And   forgetting  himself   for  joy   at  her  sight. 
He    would    have    accosted    her    outright, 

And  given  her  a  fatherly  greeting. 

But  she  tipt  him  the  wink,  drew  back,  and  cried, 

Avaunt!   my  name's  Religion! 
And  then  she  turn'd  to  the  preacher 

And  leer'd  like  a  love-sick  pigeon. 

A  fine  man  and  a  famous  Professor  was  he. 
As   the  great   Alexander  now  may  be, 
Whose  fame  not  yet  o'erpast  is: 
Or  that  new  Scotch  performer 
Who  is  fiercer  and  warmer. 
The  great  Sir  Arch-Bombastes. 

With  throbs  and  throes,   and  ah's  and   oh's. 

Far  famed  his  flock  for  frightning; 
And  thundering  with  his  voice,  the  while 
His  eyes  zigzag  like  lightning. 

This  Scotch  phenomenon,  I  trow, 

Beats   Alexander   hollow; 
Even  when   most  tame 
He  breathes  more  flame 

Then  ten  Fire-Kings  could  swallow. 

Another  daughter  he  presently  met; 

With  music  of  fife  and  drum, 

And  a  consecrated  flag. 

And  shout  of  tag  and  rag, 

And  march  of  rank  and  file. 
Which  had  fill'd  the  crowded  aisle 
Of  the  venerable  pile, 

From  church  he  saw  her  come. 


302  Satire 

He  call'd  her  aside,  and  began  to  chide. 
For  what  dost  thou  here?  said  he, 
My  city  of  Kome  is  thy  proper  home, 
And  there's  work  enough  there  for  thee. 

Thou   hast  confessions  to  listen. 

And  bells  to  christen, 
And  altars  and  dolls  to  dress; 

And  fools  to   coax. 

And   sinners  to  hoax, 
And  beads  and  bones  to  bless; 

And  great  pardons  to  sell 

Tor  those  who  pay  well. 
And  small  ones  for  those  who  pay  less. 

Nay,  Father,   I  boast,  that  this  is  my  post. 
She  answered;  and  thou;  wilt  allow. 

That  the  great  Harlot, 

Who  is   clothed   in  scarlet. 
Can  very  well  spare  me  now. 

k 
Upon  her  business  I  am  come  here. 
That  we  may  extend  our  powers: 
Whatever  lets  down  this  church  that  we  hate. 
Is  something  in  favor  of  ours. 

You  will  not  think,  great  Cosmocrat! 

That  I  spend  my  time  in  fooling; 
Many  irons,  my  sire,  have  we  in  the  fire. 

And  I  must  leave  none  of  them  cooling; 
For   you   must   know   state-councils   here, 
Are   held  which  I  bear  rule   in. 
When  my  liberal  notions. 
Produce  mischievous  motions, 
There's  many  a  man  of  good  intent. 
In  either  house  of  Parliament, 
Whom  I  shall  find  a  tool  in; 
And   I  have  hopeful  pupils  too 
Who  all  this  while  are   schooling. 


The  Devil's  Walk  on  Earth  303 

Fine  progress  they  make  in  our  liberal  opinions, 
My  Utilitarians, 
My   all  sorts  of — inians 
And  all  sorts  of — arians; 
My  all  sorts  of — ists, 
And  my  Prigs  and  my  Whigs 
Who  have  all  sorts  of  twists 
Train'd  in  the  very  way,  I  know, 
Father,  you  would  have  them  go; 
High  and  low, 
Wise  and  foolish,  great  and  small, 
March-of-Intellect-Boys   all. 

Well  pleased  wilt  thou  be  at  no  very  far  day 

When  the  caldron  of  mischief  boils, 
And  I  bring  them  forth  in  battle  array 

And  bid  them  suspend  their  broils, 
That  they  may  unite  and  fall  on  the  prey, 

For  which  we  are  spreading  our  toils. 
How  the  nice  boys  all  will  give  mouth  at  the  call. 

Hark  away!  hark  away  to  the  spoils! 
My  Macs  and  my  Quacks  and  my  lawless-Jacks, 
My  Shiels  and  O'Connells,  my  pious  Mac-Donnells, 

My  joke-smith  Sydney,  and  all  of  his  kidney. 
My  Humes  and  my  Broughams, 
My  merry  old  Jerry, 

My  Lord  Kings,  and  my  Doctor  Doyles! 

At  this  good  news,  so  great 
The  Devil's  pleasure  grew. 
That  with  a  joyful  swish  he  rent 

The  hole  where  his  tail  came  through. 

His  countenance  fell  for  a  moment 

When  he  felt  the  stitches  go; 
Ah!  thought  he,  there's   a  job  now 

That  I've  made  for  my  tailor  below. 

Great  news!  bloody  news!  cried  a  newsman; 

The  Devil  said.  Stop,  let  me  see! 
Great  news?  bloody  news?  thought  the  Devil, 

The  bloodier  the  better  for  me. 


304  Satire 

So  he  bought  the  newspaper,  and  no  news 

At  all  for  his  money  he  had. 
Lying  varlet,  thought  he,  thus  to  take  in  old  Nick! 

But   it's   some    satisfaction,   my   lad, 
To  know  thou  art  paid  beforehand  for  the  trick, 

For  the  sixpence  I  gave  thee  is  bad. 

And  then  it  came  into  his  head 

By  oracular  inspiration. 
That  what  he  had  seen  and  what  he  had  said 

In   the   course   of   this   visitation. 
Would    be   published   in   the   Morning  Post 

For  all  this  reading  nation. 

Therewith  in  second  sight  he  saw 
The  place  and  the  manner  and  time, 

In  which  this  mortal  story 

Would  be  put  in  immortal  rhyme. 

That  it  would  happen  when  two  poets 

Should  on  a  time  be  met, 
In  the  town  of  Nether  Stowey, 

In  the  shire  of  Somerset. 

There  while  the  one  was  shaving 
Would  he  the  song  begin; 
And  the  other  when  he  heard  it  at  breakfast, 
In  ready  accord  join  in. 

So  each  would  help  the  other. 
Two  heads  being  better  than  one; 

And  the  phrase  and  conceit 

Would  in  unison  meet. 
And  so  with  glee  the  verse  flow  free, 
In  ding-dong  chime  of  sing-song  rhyme, 

Till  the  whole  were  merrily  done. 

And  because  it  was  set  to  the  razor. 

Not  to  the  lute  or  harp, 
Therefore  it  was  that  the  fancy 
Should  be  bright,  and  the  wit  be  sharp. 


The  Devil's  Walk  on  Earth  305 

But,  then,  said   Satan  to  himself. 

As  for  that  said   beginner. 
Against  my  infernal   Majesty, 

There   is  no  greater  sinner. 

He  hath  put  me  in  ugly  ballads 

With  libelous  pictures  for  sale; 
He  hath  scoff'd  at  my  hoofs  and  my  horns, 

And  has  made  very  free  with  my  tail. 

But  this  Mister  Poet  shall  find 

I  am  not  a  safe  subject  for  whim; 
For  I'll  set  up  a  School  of  my  own, 

And  my  Poets  shall  set  upon  him. 

He  went  to   a  coffee-house  to  dine. 

And  there  he  had  soy  in  his  dish; 
Having  ordered  some   soles  for  his   dinner. 

Because  he  was  fond  of  flat  fish. 

They  are  much  to  my  palate,  thought  he. 

And  now  guess  the  reason  who  can. 
Why  no  bait  should  be  better  than  place. 

When  I  fish  for  a  Parliament-man. 

But  the  soles  in  the  bill  were  ten  shillings; 

Tell  your  master,  quoth  he,  what  I  say; 
If  he  charges   at  this   rate  for   all   things, 

He  must  be  in  a  pretty  good  way. 

But  mark  ye,  said  he  to  the  waiter, 

I'm  a  dealer  myself  in  this  line, 
And  his  business,  between  you  and  me. 

Nothing  like  so  extensive  as  mine. 

Now  soles  are  exceedingly  cheap, 

Which  he  will  not  attempt  to  deny. 
When  I  see  him   at  my  fish-market, 

I  warrant  him,  by-and-by. 


306  Satire 

As  he  went  along  the  Strand 
Between  three  in  the  morning  and  four 

He  observed   a  queer-looking  person 
Who  staggered  from  Perry's  door. 

And  he  thought  that  all  the  world  over 
In  vain  for  a  man  you  might  seek, 

Who  could  drink  more  like  a  Trojan 
Or  talk  more  like  a  Greek. 

The  Devil  then  he  prophesied 
It  would  one  day  be  matter  of  talk, 
That  with  wine  when   smitten. 
And  with  wit  moreover  being  happily  bitten, 
The  erudite  bibber  was  he  who  had  written 
The  story  of  this  walk. 

A  pretty  mistake,"  quoth  the  Devil; 
A  pretty  mistake  I  opine! 
I  have  put  many  ill  thoughts  in  his  mouth, 
He  will  never  put  good  ones  in  mine. 

And  whoever  shall  say  that  to  Person 

These  best  of  all  verses  belong^ 
He  is  an  untruth-telling  whore-son, 

And  so  shall  be  call'd  in  the  song. 

And  if  seeking  an  illicit  connection  with  fame, 
Any  one  else  should  put  in  a  claim. 

In  this  comical  competition; 
That  excellent  poem  will  prove 

A  man -trap  for  such  foolish  ambition, 
Where  the  silly  rogue  shall  be  caught  by  the  leg, 
And  exposed  in  a  second  edition. 

Now  the  morning  air  was  cold  for  him 

Who  was  used  to  a  warm  abode; 
And  yet  he  did  not  immediately  wish, 

To  set  out  on  his   homeward  road. 


Father  Molloy  307 

For  he  had  some  morning  calls  to  make 

Before  he  went  back  to  Hell; 
So  thought  he  I'll  step  into  a  gaming-house, 

And  that  will  do  as  well; 
But  just  before  he  could  get  to  the  door 

A   wonderful   chance   befell. 


For  all  on  a  sudden,  in  a  dark  place. 
He  came  upon  General  's  burning  face; 

And  it  struck  him  with  such  consternation, 
That  home  in  a  hurry  his  way  did  he  take. 
Because  he  thought,  by  a  slight  mistake 

'Twas  the  general  conflagration. 

Robert  Southey. 


FATHER  MOLLOY 

OR,   THE   CONFESSION 

Paddy  McCabe  was  dying  one  day. 

And  Father  Molloy  he  came  to  confess  him; 
Paddy  pray'd  hard  he  would  make  no  delay, 

But  forgive  him  his  sins  and  make  haste  for  to  bless 
him. 
"First  tell  me  your  sins,"  says  Father  Molloy, 
"For  Pm  thinking  you've  not  been  a  very  good  boy." 
"  Oh,"  says  Paddy,  "  so  late  in  the  evenin',  I  fear, 
'Xwould  throuble  you  such  a  long  story  to  hear. 
For  youVe  ten  long  miles  o'er  the  mountains  to  go, 
While  the  road  I've  to  travel's  much  longer,  you  know. 
So  give  us  your  blessin'  and  get  in  the  saddle, 
To  tell  all  my  sins  my  poor  brain  it  would  addle; 
And  the  docther  gave  ordhers  to  keep  me  so  quiet — 
'Twould  disturb  me  to  tell  all  my  sins,  if  Pd  thry  it, 
And  your  Reverence  has  towld  us,  unless  we  tell  all, 
'Tis  worse  than  not  makin'  confession  at  all. 
So  Pll  say  in  a  word  Pm  no  very  good  boy — 
And,  therefore,  your  blessin',  sweet  Father  Molloy." 


308  Satire 

"Well,  I'll  read  from  a  book,"  says  Father  Molloy, 
"The  manifold  sins  that  humanity's  heir  to; 
And  when  you  hear  those  that  your  conscience  annoy, 

You'll  just  squeeze  my  hand,  as  acknowledging  thereto." 
Then  the  father  began  the  dark  roll  of  iniquity, 
And  Paddy,  thereat,  felt  his  conscience  grow  rickety, 
And  he  gave  such  a  squeeze  that  the  priest  gave  a  roar — 

"  Oh,  murdher,"  says  Paddy,  "  don't  read  any  more. 
For,  if  you  keep  readin',  by  all  that  is  thrue, 
Your  Reverence's  fist  will  be  soon  black  and  blue; 
Besides,  to  be  throubled  my  conscience  begins, 
That  your  Reverence  should  have  any  hand  in  my  sins, 
So  you'd  betther  suppose  I  committed  them  all. 
For  whether  they're  great  ones,  or  whether  they're  small, 
Or  if  they're  a  dozen,  or  if  they're  fourscore, 
'Tis  your  Reverence  knows  how  to  absolve  them,  asthore; 
So  I'll  say  in  a  word,  I'm  no  very  good  boy — 
And,  therefore,  your  blessin',  sweet  Father  Molloy." 


"Well,"  says  Father  Molloy,  "if  your  sins  I  forgive, 
So  you  must  forgive  all  your  enemies  truly; 
And  promise  me  also  that,  if  you  should  live. 
You'll  leave  off  your  old  tricks,  and  begin  to  live  newly." 
"  I  forgive  ev'rybody,"  says  Pat,  with  a  groan, 
"Except  that  big  vagabone  Micky  Malone; 
And  him  I  will  murdher  if  ever  I  can — " 
"  Tut,  tut,"  says  the  priest,  "  you're  a  very  bad  man ; 
For  without  your  forgiveness,  and  also  repentance. 
You'll  ne'er  go  to  Heaven,  and  that  is  my  sentence." 
"  Poo !  "  says  Paddy  McCabe,  "  that's  a  very  hard  case — 
With  your  Reverence  and  Heaven  I'm  content  to  make 

pace; 
But  with  Heaven  and  your  Reverence  I  wondher — Och 

hone — 
You  would  think  of  comparin'  that  blackguard  Malone — 
But  since  I'm  hard  press'd  and  that  I  must  forgive, 
I  forgive — if  I  die — but  as  sure  as  I  live 
That  ugly  blackguard  I  will  surely  desthroy! — 
So,  now  for  your  blessin',  sweet  Father  Molloy ! " 

Samuel  Lover. 


The  Owl-Critic  809 

THE  OWL-CKITIC 

"Who  stuffed  that  white  owl?"     No  one  spoke  in  the 

shop, 
The  barber  was  busy,  and  he  couldn't  stop; 
The  customers,  waiting  their  turns,  were  all  reading 
The  "Daily,"  the  "Herald,"  the  "Post,"  little  heeding 
The  young  man  who  blurted  out  such  a  blunt  question; 
Not  one  raised  a  head,  or  even  made  a  suggestion; 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Mr.  Brown," 

Cried  the  youth,  with   a  frown, 

"  How  wrong  the  whole  thing  is. 

How  preposterous  each  wing  is 

How  flattened  the  head  is,  how  jammed  down  the  neck  is — 

In  short,  the  whole  owl,  what  an  ignorant  wreck  't  is  I 

I  make  no  apology ; 

I've  learned  owl-eology. 

I've  passed  days  and  nights  in  a  hundred  collections, 
And  cannot  be  blinded  to  any  deflections 
Arising  from  unskilful  fingers  that  fail 
To  stuff  a  bird  right,  from  his  beak  to  his  tail. 
Mister  Brown!     Mister   Brown! 
Do  take  that  bird  down. 

Or  you'll  soon  be  the  laughing-stock  all  over  town ! " 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"Fve  studied  owls. 

And    other   night-fowls. 

And  I  tell  you 

What  I  know  to  be  true; 

An  owl   cannot  roost 

With  his  limbs  so  unloosed; 

No  owl  in  this  world 

Ever  had  his  claws  curled. 

Ever  had   his  legs  slanted, 

Ever  had  his  bill  canted. 

Ever  had  his  neck  screwed 

Into  that  attitude. 

He  can't  do  it,  because 

'Tis   against  all  bird-laws. 


310  Satire 

Anatomy  teaches, 
Ornithology  preaches, 
An  owl  has  a  toe 
That  ccm't  turn  out  sol 

I've  made  the  white  owl  my  study  for  years, 
And  to  see  such  a  job  almost  moves  me  to  tear?! 
Mr.  Brown,  I'm  amazed 
You  should  be  so  gone  crazed 
As  to  put  up  a  bird 
In  that  posture  absurd! 

To  look  at  that  owl  really  brings  on  a  dizziness; 
The  man  who  stuffed  him  don't  half  know  his  business !  " 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"Examine  those  eyes. 

I'm  filled  with  surprise 

Taxidermists  should  pass 

Off  on  you  such  poor  glass; 

So  unnatural  they  seem 

They'd  make  Audubon  scream. 

And  John  Burroughs  laugh 

To  encounter  such  chaff. 

Do  take  that  bird  down; 

Have  him  stuffed  again,  Brown ! " 

And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

"With  some  sawdust  and  bark 

I  could  stuff  in  the  dark 

An  owl  better  than  that. 

I  could  make  an  old  hat 

Look  more  like  an  owl 

Than  that  horrid  fowl. 

Stuck  up  there  so  stiff  like  a  side  of  coarse  leather. 

In  fact,  about  him  there's  not  one  natural  feather." 

Just  then,  with  a  wink  and  a  sly  normal  lurch, 
The  owl,  very  gravely,  got  down  from  his  perch, 
Walked  roimd,  and  regarded  his  fault-finding  critic 
(Who  thought  he  was  stuffed)  with  a  glance  analytic, 
And  then  fairly  hooted,  as  if  he  should  say: 
"Your  learning's  at  fault  this  time,  anyway; 


Life  in  Laconics  311 

Don't  waste  it  again  on  a  live  bird,  I  pray. 
I'm  an  owl;  you're  another.     Sir  Critic,  good  day!'' 
And  the  barber  kept  on  shaving. 

James  Thomas  Fields. 


WHAT  WILL  WE  DO? 

What  will  we  do  when  the  good  days  come — 

When  the  prima  donna's  lips  are  dumb, 

And  the  man  who  reads  us  his  "  little  things  " 

Has  lost  his  voice  like  the  girl  who  sings; 

When  stilled  is  the  breath  of  the  cornet-man, 

And  the  shrilling  chords  of  the  quartette  clan; 

When  our  neighbours'  children  have  lost  their  drums- 

Oh,  what  will  we  do  when  the  good  time  comes? 

Oh,  what  will  we  do  in  that  good,  blithe  time. 

When  the  tramp  will  work — oh,  thing  sublime! 

And  the  scornful  dame  who  stands  on  your  feet 

Will  "  Thank  you,  sir,"  for  the  proffered  seat; 

And  the  man  you  hire  to  work  by  the  day. 

Will  allow  you  to  do  his  work  your  way; 

And  the  cook  who  trieth  your  appetite 

Will  steal  no  more  than  she  thinks  is  right; 

When  the  boy  you  hire  will  call  you  "  Sir,*'' 

Instead  of  "Say"  and  "Guverner"; 

When  the  funny  man  is  humorsome — 

How  can  we  stand  the  millennium? 

Robert  J.  Burdette. 


LIFE  IN  LACONICS 

Given  a  roof,  and  a  taste  for  rations, 

And  you  have  the  key  to  the  "  wealth  of  nations." 

Given  a  boy,  a  tree,  and  a  hatchet. 
And  virtue  strives  in  vain  to  match  it. 

Given  a  pair,  a  snake,  and  an  apple, 
You  make  the  whole  world  need  a  chapeL 


312  Satire 

Given  "  no  cards,"  broad  views,  and  a  hovel. 
You  have  a  realistic  novel. 

Given  symptoms  and  doctors  with  potion  and  pill. 
And  your  heirs  will  ere  long  be  contesting  your  will. 

That  good  leads  to  evil  there's  no  denying : 

If  it  were  not  for  truth  there  would  be  no  lying. 

''  I'm  nobody !  "  should  have  a  hearse ; 
But  then,  "  I'm  somebody !  "  is  worse. 

"  Folks  say,"  et  cetera!    Well,  they  shouldn't, 
And  if  they  knew  you  well,  they  wouldn't. 

When  you  coddle  your  life,  all  its  vigor  and  grace 
Shrink  away  with  the-  whisper,  "  We're  in  the  wrong  place.' 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge. 


ON  KNOWING  WHEN  TO  STOP 

The  woodchuck  told  it  all  about. 

"I'm  going  to  build  a  dwelling 
Six  stories  high,  up  to  the  sky ! " 

He  never  tired  of  telling. 

He  dug  the  cellar  smooth  and  well 

But  made  no  more  advances; 
That  lovely  hole  so  pleased  his  soul 

And  satisfied  his  fancies. 

L.  J.  Bridgman. 


REV.  GABE  TUCKER'S  REMARKS 

You  may  notch  it  on  de  palin's  as  a  mighty  resky  plan 
To  make  your  judgment  by  de  clo'es  dat  kivers  up  a  man; 
For  I  hardly  needs  to  tell  you  how  you  often  come  across 
A  fifty-dollar  saddle  on  a  twenty-dollar  hoss ; 
An',  wukin'  in  de  low-groun's,  you  diskiver,  as  you  go, 
Dat  de  fines'  shuck  may  hide  de  meanes'  nubbin  in  a  row. 


I 


Thursday  313 

I  think  a  man  has  got  a  mighty  slender  chance  for  heben 

Dat  holds  on  to  his  piety  but  one  day  out  o'  seben ; 

Dat  talks  about  de  sinners  wid  a  heap  o'  solemn  chat, 

And  nebber  draps  a  nickel  in  de  missionary  hat; 

Dat's  foremost  in  de  meetin'-house  for  raisin'  all  de  chunes, 

But  lays  aside  his  'ligion  wid  his  Sunday  pantaloons. 


I  nebber  judge  o'  people  dat  I  meets  along  de  way 
By  de  places  whar  dey  come  fum  an'  de  houses  whar  dey  stay; 
For  de  bantam  chicken's  awful  fond  o'  roostin'  pretty  high, 
An'  de  turkey  buzzard  sails  above  de  eagle  in  de  sky ; 
Dey  ketches  little  minners  in  de  middle  ob  de  sea. 
An'  you  finds  de  smalles'  possum  up  de  bigges'  kind  o'  tree ! 

Unknown. 


THUESDAY 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  vespers  done; 

From  chapel  the  monks  came  one  by  one. 

And  down  they  went  thro'  the  garden  trim, 

In  cassock  and  cowl,  to  the  river's  brim. 

Ev'ry  brother  his  rod  he  took; 

Ev'ry  rod  had  a  line  and  a  hook;  • 

Ev'ry  hook  had  a  bait  so  fine. 

And  thus  they  sang  in  the  even  shine: 
"  Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  Friday,   so  we'll  fish  the   stream 

to-day ! 
Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  Friday,  so  we'll  fish  the  streatn  to-day ! 
Benedicite ! " 


So  down  they  sate  by  the  river's  brim. 
And  fish'd  till  the  light  was  growing  dim; 
They  fish'd  the  stream  till  the  moon  was  high. 
But  never  a  fish  came  wand'ring  by. 
They  fish'd  the  stream  in  the  bright  moonshine, 
But  not  one  fish  would  he  come  to  dine. 
And  the  Abbot  said,  "  It  seems  to  me 
These  rascally  fish  are  all  gone  to  sea. 


314  Satire 

And  to-morrow   will   be  Friday,  but  we've   caught  no  fish 

to-day ; 
Oh,   to-morrow  will  be  Friday,  but  we've  caught  no  fish 

to-day ! 

Maledicite!" 

So  back  they  went  to  the  convent  gate. 
Abbot  and  monks  disconsolate; 
For  they  thought  of  the  morrow  with  faces  white. 
Saying,  "  Oh,  we  must  curb  our  appetite ! 
But  down  in  the  depths  of  the  vault  below 
There's  Malvoisie  for  a  world  of  woe ! " 
So  they  quaff  their  wine,  and  all  declare 
That  fish,  after  all,  is  but  gruesome  fare. 
"  Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  Friday,   so  we'll   warm   our  souls 

to-day ! 
Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  Friday,  so  we'll  warm  our  souls  to-day! 
Benedicite ! " 

Frederick  E.  Weatherly. 

SKY-MAKING 

TO   PROFESSOR   TYNDALL 

Just  take  a  trifling  handful,  O  philosopher. 
Of  magic  matter,  give  it  a  slight  toss  over 
The  ambient  ether,  and  I  don't  see  why 
You  shouldn't  make  a  sky. 

0  hours  Utopian  which  we  may  anticipate ! 
ThiQk  London  fog  how  easy  'tis  to  dissipate, 

.  And  make  the  most  pea-soupy  day  as  clear 
As  Bass's  brightest  beer ! 

Poet-professor !  now  my  brain  thou  kindlest ; 

1  am  become  a  most  determined  Tyndallist. 
If  it  is  known  a  fellow  can  make  skies. 

Why  not  make  bright  blue  eyes? 

This  to  deny,  the  folly  of  a  dunce  it  is; 
Surely  a  girl  as  easy  as  a  sunset  is. 
If  you  can  make  a  halo  or  eclipse, 
Why  not  two  laughing  lips? 


The  Positivists  816 

The  creed  of  Archimedes,  erst  of  Sicily, 
And  of  D'lsraeli  .    .    .  forti  nil  difficile, 
Is  likewise  mine.    Pygmalion  was  a  fool 
Who  should  have  gone  to  school. 


Why  should  an  author  scribble  rhymes  or  articles? 
Bring  me  a  dozen  tiny  Tyndall  particles; 
Therefrom  I'll  coin  a  dinner,  Nash's  wine. 
And  a  nice  girl  to  dine. 

Mortimer  Collins. 


THE  POSITIVISTS 

Life  and  the  Universe  show  spontaneity: 
Down  with  ridiculous  notions  of  Deity ! 

Churches  and  creeds  are  all  lost  in  the  mists; 

Truth  must  be  sought  with  the  Positivists. 


Wise  are  their  teachers  beyond  all  comparison, 
Comte,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Mill,  Morley,  and  Harrison; 
Who  will  adventure  to  enter  the  lists 
With  such  a  squadron  of  Positivists? 

Social  arrangements  are  awful  miscarriages; 
Cause  of  all  crime  is  our  system  of  marriages. 

Poets  with  sonnets,  and  lovers  with  trysts, 

Kindle  the  ire  of  the  Positivists. 


Husbands  and  wives  should  be  all  one  community, 
Exquisite  freedom  with  absolute  unity. 

Wedding-rings  worse  are  than  manacled  wrists- 
Such  is  the  creed  of  the  Positivists. 


There  was  an  ape  in  the  days  that  were  earlier; 

Centuries  passed,  and  his  hair  became  curlier; 
Centuries  more  gave  a  thumb  to  his  wrist — 
Then  he  was  Man,  and  a  Positivist. 


316  Satire 

If  you  are  pious  (mild  form  of  insanity) 
Bow  down  and  worship  the  mass  of  humanity. 

Other  religions  are  buried  in  mists; 

iWe're  our  own  Gods,  say  the  Positivists. 

Mortimer  Collins. 


MAKTIAL  IN  LONDON 

Exquisite  wines  and  comestibles, 

From  Slater,  and  Fortnum  and  Mason; 

Billiard,  ecarte,  and  chess  tables; 
Water  in  vast  marble  basin; 

Luminous  books  (not  voluminous) 

To  read  under  beech-trees  cacuminous; 

One  friend,  who  is  fond  of  a  distich. 

And  doesn't  get  too  syllogistic; 

A  valet,  who  knows  the  complete  art 

Of  service — a  maiden,  his  sweetheart: 

Give  me  these,  in  some  rural  pavilion, 

And  I'll  envy  no  Kothschild  his  million. 

Mortimer  Collins. 


THE  SPLENDID  SHILLING 

" Sing,  heavenly  Muse  ! 

Things  unattempted  yet,  in  prose  or  rhyme," 
A  shilling,  breeches,  and  chimeras  dire. 

Happy  the  man,  who,  void  of  cares  and  strife, 
In  silken  or  in  leather  purse  retains 
A  Splendid  Shilling:  he  nor  hears  with  pain 
New  oysters  cried,  nor  sighs  for  cheerful  ale; 
But  with  his  friends,  when  nightly  mists  arise, 
To  Juniper's  Magpie,  or  Town-hall  repairs : 
Where,  mindful  of  the  nymph,  whose  wanton  eye 
Transfix'd  his  soul,  and  kindled  amorous  flames, 
Chloe,  or  Phillis,  he  each  circling  glass 
Wisheth  her  health,  and  joy,  and  equal  love. 
Meanwhile,  he  smokes,  and  laughs  at  merry  tale, 


The  Splendid  Shilling  317 

Or  pun  ambiguous,  or  conundrum  quaint. 
But  I,  whom  griping  penury  surrounds. 
And  Hunger,  sure  attendant  upon  Want, 
With  scanty  offals,  and  small  acid  tiff, 
(Wretched  repast!)  my  meagre  corpse  sustain: 
Then  solitary  walk,  or  doze  at  home 
In  garret  vile,  and  with  a  warming  puff 
Regale  chill'd  fingers:  or  from  tube  as  black 
As  winter-chimney,  or  well-polish'd  jet, 
Exhale  mundungus,  ill-perfuming  scent: 
Not  blacker  tube,  nor  of  a  shorter  size. 
Smokes  Cambro-Briton  (versed  in  pedigree. 
Sprung  from  Cadwallador  and  Arthur,  kings 
Full  famous  in  romantic  tale)  when  he. 
O'er  many  a  craggy  hill  and  barren  cliff. 
Upon  a  cargo  of  fam'd  Cestrian  cheese. 
High  over-shadowing  rides,  with  a  design 
To  vend  his  wares,  or  at  th'  Avonian  mart. 
Or  Maridunum,  or  the  ancient  town 
Yclep'd  Brechinia,  or  where  Vaga's  stream 
Encircles  Ariconium,  fruitful  soil! 
Whence  flow  nectareous  wines,  that  well  may  vie 
With  Massic,  Setin,  or  renown'd  Ealern. 

Thus  while  my  joyless  minutes  tedious  flow. 
With  looks  demure,  and  silent  pace,  a  Dun, 
Horrible  monster!  hated  by  gods  and  men, 
To  my  aerial  citadel  ascends. 
With  vocal  heel  thrice  thundering  at  my  gate. 
With  hideous  accent  thrice  he  calls ;  I  know 
The  voice  ill-boding,  and  the  solemn  sound. 
What  should  I  do ?  or  whither  turn ?     Amazed, 
Confounded,  to  the  dark  recess  I  fly 
Of  wood-hole;  straight  my  bristling  hairs  erect 
Through  sudden  fear ;  a  chilly  sweat  bedews 
My  shuddering  limbs,  and  (wonderful  to  tell!) 
My  tongue  forgets  her  faculty  of  speech; 
So  horrible  he  seems!    His  faded  brow, 
Intrench'd  with  many  a  frown,  and  conic  beard. 
And  spreading  band,  admir'd  by  modern  saints, 
Disastrous  acts  forbode;  in  his  right  hand 
Long  scrolls  of  paper  solemnly  he  waves. 


318  Satire 

With  characters  and  figures  dire  inscrib'd, 

Grievous  to  mortal  eyes;  (ye  gods,  avert 

Such  plagues  from  righteous  men!)    Behind  him  stalks 

Another  monster,  not  unlike  himself, 

Sullen  of  aspect,  by  the  vulgar  call'd 

A  catchpole,  whose  polluted  hands  the  gods, 

With  force  incredible,  and  magic  charms. 

First  have  endued:  if  he  his  ample  palm 

Should  haply  on  ill-fated  shoulder  lay 

Of  debtor,  straight  his  body,  to  the  touch 

Obsequious  (as  whilom  knights  were  wont,) 

To  some  enchanted  castle  is  convey'd. 

Where  gates  impregnable,  and  coercive  chains, 

In  durance  strict  detain  him,  till,  in  form 

Of  money,  Pallas  sets  the  captive  free. 

Beware,  ye  debtors !  when  ye  walk,  beware, 
Be  circumspect;  oft  with  insidious  ken 
The  caitiff  eyes  your  steps  aloof,  and  oft 
Lies  perdu  in  a  nook  or  gloomy  cave, 
Prompt  to  enchant  some  inadvertent  wretch 
With  his  unhallowed  touch.    So,  (poets  sing)    , 
Grimalkin,  to  domestic  vermin  sworn 
An  everlasting  foe,  with  watchful  eye 
Lies  nightly  brooding  o'er  a  chinky  gap, 
Portending  her  fell  claws,  to  thoughtless  mice 
Sure  ruin.     So  her  disembowell'd  web 
Arachne,  in  a  hall  or  kitchen,  spreads 
Obvious  to  vagrant  flies :  she  secret  stands 
Within  her  woven  cell :  the  humming  prey, 
Regardless  of  their  fate,  rush  on  the  toils 
Inextricable,  nor  will  aught  avail 
Their  arts,  or  arms,  or  shapes  of  lovely  hue; 
The  wasp  insidious,  and  the  buzzing  drone. 
And  butterfly,  proud  of  expanded  wings 
Distinct  with  gold,  entangled  in  her  snares. 
Useless  resistance  make;  with  eager  strides. 
She  towering  flies  to  her  expected  spoils ; 
Then,  with  envenomed  jaws,  the  vital  blood 
Drinks  of  reluctant  foes,  and  to  her  cave 
Their  bulky  carcasses  triumphant  drags. 

So  pass  my  days.    But  when  nocturnal  shades 


The  Splendid  Shilling  319 

This  world  envelop,  and  th*  inclement  air 
Persuades  men  to  repel  benumbing  frosts 
With  pleasant  wines,  and  crackling  blaze  of  wood; 
Me,  lonely  sitting,  nor  the  glimmering  light 
Of  make- weight  candle,  nor  the  joyous  talk 
Of  loving  friend,  delights :  distress'd,  forlorn, 
Amidst  the  horrors  of  the  tedious  night. 
Darkling  I  sigh,  and  feed  with  dismal  thoughts 
My  anxious  mind:  or  sometimes  mournful  verse 
Indite,  and  sing  of  groves  and  myrtle  shades. 
Or  desperate  lady  near  a  purling  stream, 
Or  lover  pendent  on  a  willow  tree. 
Meanwhile  I  labor  with  eternal  drought. 
And  restless  wish,  and  rave;  my  parched  throat 
Finds  no  relief,  nor  heavy  eyes  repose : 
But  if  a  slumber  haply  does  invade 
My  weary  limbs,  my  fancy's  still  awake, 
Thoughtful  of  drink,  and  eager,  in  a  dream. 
Tipples  imaginary  pots  of  ale. 
In  vain ;  awake  I  find  the  settled  thirst 
Still  gnawing,  and  the  pleasant  phantom  curse. 
Thus  do  I  live,  from  pleasure  quite  debarred, 
Nor  taste  the  fruits  that  the  sun's  genial  rays 
Mature,  john-apple,  nor  the  downy  peach. 
Nor  walnut  in  rough-furrow'd  coat  secure, 
Nor  medlar,  fruit  delicious  in  decay; 
Afflictions  great!  yet  greater  still  remain: 
My  galligaskins,  that  have  long  withstood 
The  winter's  fury,  and  encroaching  frosts. 
By  time  subdued  (what  will  not  time  subdue!) 
An  horrid  chasm  disclos'd  with  orifice 
Wide,  discontinuous;  at  which  the  winds 
Eurus  and  Auster,  and  the  dreadful  force 
Of  Boreas,  that  congeals  the  Cronian  waves. 
Tumultuous  enter  with  dire  chilling  blasts, 
Portending  agues.    Thus  a  well-fraught  ship, 
Long  sail'd  secure,  or  through  th'  ^gean  deep, 
Or  the  Ionian,  till  cruising  near 
The  Lilybean  shore,  with  hideous  crush 
On  Scylla,  or  Charybdis  (dangerous  rocks!) 
She  strikes  rebounding;  whence  the  shatter'd  oak, 


320  Satire 

So  fierce  a  shock  unable  to  withstand,  ' 

Admits  the  sea :  in  at  the  gaping  side 

The  crowding  waves  gush  with  impetuous  rage 

Resistless,  overwhelming;  horrors  seize 

The  mariners ;  Death  in  their  eyes  appears, 

They  stare,  they  lave,  they  pump,  they  swear,  they  pray 

(Vain  efforts !)  still  the  battering  waves  rush  in, 

Implacable,  till,  delug'd  by  the  foam. 

The  ship  sinks  foundering  in  the  vast  abyss. 

John  Philips. 


AFTER  HORACE 

What  asks  the  Bard?    He  prays  for  nought 

But  what  the  truly  virtuous  crave : 
That  is,  the  things  he  plainly  ought 
To  have. 


'Tis  not  for  wealth,  with  all  the  shocks 

That  vex  distracted  millionaires. 
Plagued  by  their  fluctuating  stocks 
And  shares: 

While  plutocrats  their  millions  new 

Expend  upon  each  costly  whim, 
A  great  deal  less  than  theirs  will  do 
For  him: 


The  simple  incomes  of  the  poor 
His  meek  poetic  soul  content: 
Say,  £30,000  at  four 
Per  cent. ! 


His  taste  in  residence  is  plain: 
No  palaces  his  heart  rejoice: 
A  cottage  in  a  lane  (Park  Lane 
For  choice) — 


After  Horace  821 

Here  be  his  days  in  quiet  spent: 
Here  let  him  meditate  the  Muse: 
Baronial  Halls  were  only  meant 
For  Jews, 

And  lands  that  stretch  with  endless  span 

From  east  to  west,  from  south  to  north, 
Are  often  much  more  trouble  than 
They're  worth! 

Let  epicures  who  eat  too  much 

Become  uncomfortably  stout: 
Let  gourmets  feel  th'  approaching  touch 
Of  gout,— 

The  Bard  subsists  on  simpler  food: 

A  dinner,  not  severely  plain, 
A  pint  or  so  of  really  good 
Champagne — 

Grant  him  but  these,  no  care  he'll  take 

Though  Laureates  bask  in  Fortune's  smile. 
Though  Kiplings  and  Corellis  make 
Their  pile: 

Contented  with  a  scantier  dole 

His  humble  Muse  serenely  jogs, 
Eemote  from  scenes  where  authors  roll 
Their  logs: 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd  she  lurks. 

And  really  cares  no  single  jot 
Whether  the  public  read  her  works 
Or  not! 

A.  D.  Godley. 


322  Satire 


OF  A  PRECISE  TAILOR 

A  TAILOR,  a  man  of  an  upright  dealing. 

True  but  for  lying,  honest  but  for  stealing, 

Did  fall  one  day  extremely  sick  by  chance, 

And  on  the  sudden  was  in  wondrous  trance. 

The  Fiends  of  hell,  mustering  in  fearful  manner. 

Of  sundry-coloured  silks  displayed  a  banner. 

Which  he  had  stol'n;  and  wished,  as  they  did  tell, 

That  one  day  he  might  find  it  all  in  hell.- 

The  man,  affrighted  at  this  apparition. 

Upon  recovery  grew  a  great  precisian. 

He  bought  a  Bible  of  the  new  translation. 

And  in  his  life  he  showed  great  reformation. 

He  walked  mannerly  and  talked  meekly; 

He  heard  three  lectures  and  two  sermons  weekly; 

He  vowed  to  shun  all  companies  unruly, 

And  in  his  speech  he  used  no  oath  but  "  truly  ": 

And,  zealously  to  keep  the  Sabbath's  rest, 

His  meat  for  that  day  on  the  even  was  dressed. 

And,  lest  the  custom  that  he  had  to  steal 

Might  cause  him  sometime  to  forget  his  zeal. 

He  gives  his  journeyman  a  special  charge 

That,  if  the  stuff  allowed  fell  out  too  large, 

And  that  to  filch  his  fingers  were  inclined, 

He  then  should  put  the  Banner  in  his  mind.    ~ 

This  done,  I  scant  the  rest  can  tell  for  laughter. 

A  Captain  of  a  ship  came  three  days  after, 

And  bought  three  yards  of  velvet  and  three  quarters. 

To  make  Venetians  down  below  the  garters. 

He,  that  precisely  knew  what  was  enough, 

Soon  slipped  away  three  quarters  of  the  stuff. 

His  man,  espying  it,  said  in  derision, 

"  Remember,  Master,  how  you  saw  the  vision !  " 

"Peace,  knave,"  quoth  he;  "1  did  not  see  one  rag 

Of  such-a-coloured  silk  in  all  the  flag." 

Sir  John  Harrington. 


Money  323 


MONEY 

Who  money  has,  well  wages  the  campaign; 
Who  money  has,  becomes  of  gentle  strain ; 
Who  money  has,  to  honor  all  accord : 

He  is  my  lord. 
Who  money  has,  the  ladies  ne'er  disdain ; 
Who  money  has,  loud  praises  will  attain; 
Who  money  has,  in  the  world's  heart  is  stored, 

The  flower  adored. 
O'er  all  mankind  he  holds  his  conquering  track— 
They  only  are  condenmed  who  money  lack. 

Who  money  has,  will  wisdom's  credit  gain; 
Who  money  has,  all  earth  is  his  domain ; 
Who  money  has,  praise  is  his  sure  reward, 

Which  all  aflford. 
Who  money  has,  from  nothing  need  refrain; 
Who  money  has,  on  him  is  favor  poured; 

And,  in  a  word, 
Who  money  has,  need  never  fear  attack — 
They  only  are  condemned  who  money  lack. 

Who  money  has,  in  every  heart  does  reign; 
Who  money  has,  all  to  approach  are  fain; 
Who  money  has,  of  him  no  fault  is  told. 

Nor  harm  can  hold. 
Who  money  has,  none  does  his  right  restrain; 
Who  money  has,  can  whom  he  will  maintain; 
Who  money  has,  clerk,  prior,  by  his  gold, 

Is  straight  enrolled. 
Who  money  has,  all  raise,  none  hold  him  back — 
They  only  are  condemned  who  money  lack. 

Jehan  du  Pontalais. 


324}  Satire 


BOSTON  NUKSEKY  RHYMES 

RHYME  FOR  A  GEOLOGICAL  BABY 

Trilobite,  Grapholite,  Nautilus  pie; 
Seas  were  calcareous,  oceans  were  dry. 
Eocene,  miocene,  pliocene  Tuff, 
Lias  and  Trias  and  that  is  enough. 

RHYME  for  astronomical  BABY 

Bye  Baby  Bunting, 
Father's  gone  star-hunting; 
Mother's  at  the  telescope 
Casting  baby's  horoscope. 
Bye  Baby  Buntoid, 
Father's  found  an  asteroid; 
Mother  takes  by  calculation 
The  angle  of  its  inclination. 

RHYME  for  BOTANICAL  BABY 

Little  bo-peepals 

Has  lost  her  sepals, 

And  can't  tell  where  to  find  them ; 

In  the  involucre 

By  hook  or  by  crook  or 

She'll  make  up  her  mind  not  to  mind  them. 

RHYME  for  a  CHEMICAL  BABY 

Oh,  sing  a  song  of  phosphates,     ; 

Fibrine  in  a  line, 
Four-and-twenty  follicles 

In  the  van  of  time. 

When  the  phosphorescence 

Evoluted  brain. 
Superstition  ended. 

Men  began  to  reign. 

Rev.  Joseph  Cook. 


Kentucky  Philosophy  325 


KENTUCKY  PHILOSOPHY 

You  Wi'yum,  cum  'ere,  suh,  dis  minute.     Wut  dat  you  got 

under  dat  box? 
I  don't  want  no  foolin' — you  hear  me?    Wut  you  say?    Ain't 

nu'h'n  but  rocJcs? 
'Peahs  ter  me  you's  owdashus  perticler.     S'posin'  dey's  uv  a 

new  kine. 
ril  des  take  a  look  at  dem  rocks.    Hi  yi!  der  you  think  dat 

Psbline? 

I  calls  dat  a  plain  water-million,  you  scamp,  en  1  knows  whah 

it  growed; 
It  come  fum  de  Jimmerson  cawn  fiel',  dah  on  ter  side  er  de 

road. 
You  stole  it,  you  rascal— you  stole  it!     I  watched  you  fum 

down  in  de  lot. 
En  time  I  gits  th'ough  wid  you,  nigger,  you  won't  eb'n  be  a 

grease  spot! 

ril  fix  you.    Mirandy !    Mirandy !  go  cut  me  a  hick'ry — make 

'ase! 
En  cut  me  de  toughes'  en  keenes'  you  c'n  fine  any  whah  on  de 

place. 
I'll  larn  you,  Mr.  Wi'yum  Joe  Vetters,  ter  steal  en  ter  lie,  you 

young  sinner, 
Disgracin'  yo'  ole   Christian   mammy,  en  makin'  her  leave 

cookin'  dinner! 

Now  ain't  you  ashamed  er  yo'se'f,  suh?    I  is.     I's  'shamed 

you's  my  son! 
En  de  holy  accorjun  angel  he's  'shamed  er  wut  you  has  done; 
En    he's   tuk   it   down   up   yander   in    coal-black,    blood-red 

letters — 
"  One  water-million  stoled  by  Wi'yum  Josephus  Vetters." 

En  wut  you  s'posin'  Brer  Bascom,  yo'  teacher  at  Sunday 

school, 
'TTd  say  ef  he  knowed  how  you's  broke  de  good  Lawd's  Qol^A 

Kule? 


326  Satire 

Boy,  whah's  de  raisin'  I  give  you?    Is  you  boun'  fuh  ter  be 

a  black  villiun? 
Ps  s'prised  dat  a  chile  er  yo'  mammy  'ud  steal  any  man's 

water-million. 

En  I's  now  gwiner  cut  it  right  open,  en  you  shain't  have 

narry  bite, 
Fuh  a  boy  who'll  steal  water-millions — en  dat  in  de  day's 

broad  light — 
Ain't — Lawdy!  it's  green!    Mirandy;     Mi-ran-dy!  come  on 

wi'  dat  switch! 
Well,  stealin'  a  g-r-e-e-n  water-million !  who  ever  heered  tell 

er  des  sich? 

Cain't  tell  w'en  dey's  ripe  ?    Wy,  you  thump  'um,  en  w'en  dey 

go  pank  dey  is  green ; 
But  when  dey  go  punh,  now  you  mine  me,  dey's  ripe — en 

dat's  des  wut  I  mean. 
En  nex'  time  you  hook  water-millions — you  heered  me,  you 

ign'ant  young  hunk, 
Ef  you  don't  want  a  lickin'  all  over,  be  sho  dat  dey  allers  go 

"punk"! 

Harrison  Robertson. 


JOHN  GKUMLIE 

John  Grumlie  swore  by  the  light  o'  the  moon 

And  the  green  leaves  on  the  tree. 
That  he  could  do  more  work  in  a  day 

Than  his  wife  could  do  in  three. 
His  wife  rose  up  in  the  morning 

Wi'  cares  and  troubles  enow — 
John  Grumlie  bide  at  hame,  John, 

And  I'll  go  baud  the  plow. 

First  ye  maun  dress  your  children  fair, 

And  put  them  a'  in  their  gear; 
And  ye  maun  turn  the  malt,  John, 

Or  else  ye'll  spoil  the  beer; 


A  Song  of  Impossibilities  327 

And  ye  maun  reel  the  tweel,  John, 

That  I  span  yesterday; 
And  ye  maun  ca'  in  the  hens,  John, 

Else  they'll  all  lay  away. 

0  he  did  dress  his  children  fair. 

And  put  them  a'  in  their  gear; 
But  he  forgot  to  turn  the  malt, 

And  so  he  spoiled  the  beer: 
And  he  sang  loud  as  he  reeled  the  tweel 

That  his  wife  span  yesterday; 
But  he  forgot  to  put  up  the  hens, 

And  the  hens  all  layed  away. 

The  hawket  crummie  loot  down  nae  milk; 

He  kirned,  nor  butter  gat; 
And  a'  gade  wrang,  and  nought  gade  right; 

He  danced  with  rage,  and  grat; 
Then  up  he  ran  to  the  head  o'  the  knowe 

Wi'  mony  a  wave  and  shout — 
She  heard  him  as  she  heard  him  not. 

And  steered  the  stots  about. 

John  Grumlie's  wife  cam  hame  at  e'en, 

A  weary  wife  and  sad, 
And  burst  into  a  laughter  loud. 

And  laughed  as  she'd  been  mad: 
While  John  Grumlie  swore  by  the  light  o'  the  moon 

And  the  green  leaves  on  the  tree. 
If  my  wife  should  na  win  a  penny  a  day 

She's  aye  have  her  will  for  me. 

Allan  Cunningham. 


A  SONG  OF  IMPOSSIBILITIES 

Lady,  I  loved  you  all  last  year. 

How  honestly  and  well — 
Alas !  would  weary  you  to  hear, 

And  torture  me  to  tell; 
I  raved  beneath  the  midnight  sky, 

I  sang  beneath  the  limes — 


328  Satire 

Orlando  in  my  lunacy, 

And  Petrarch  in  my  rhymes. 

But  all  is  over !    When  the  sun 
Dries  up  the  boundless  main, 

When  black  is  white,  false-hearted  one, 
I  may  be  yours  again! 

When  passion's  early  hopes  and  fears 

Are  not  derided  things; 
When  truth  is  found  in  falling  tears. 

Or  faith  in  golden  rings; 
When  the  dark  Fates  that  rule  our  way 

Instruct  me  where  they  hide 
One  woman  that  would  ne'er  betray, 

One  friend  that  never  lied; 
When  summer  shines  without  a  cloud. 

And  bliss  without  a  pain; 
When  worth  is  noticed  in  a  crowd, 

I  may  be  yours  again! 

When  science  pours  the  light  of  day 

Upon  the  lords  of  lands; 
When  Huskisson  is  heard  to  say 

That  Lethbridge  understands; 
When  wrinkles  work  their  way  in  youth. 

Or  Eldon's  in  a  hurry; 
When  lawyers  represent  the  truth, 

Or  Mr.  Sumner  Surrey; 
When  aldermen  taste  eloquence 

Or  bricklayers  champagne; 
When  common  law  is  common  sense, 

I  may  be  yours  again! 

When  learned  judges  play  the  beau. 

Or  learned  pigs  the  tabor; 
When  traveller  Bankes  beats  Cicero, 

Or  Mr.  Bishop  Weber; 
When  sinking  funds  discharge  a  debt. 

Or  female  hands  a  bomb; 
When  bankrupts  study  the  Gazette, 

Or  colleges  Tom  Thumb; 


A  Song  of  Impossibilities  329 

When  little  fishes  learn  to  speak, 

Or  poets  not  to  feign; 
When  Dr.  Geldart  construes  Greek, 

I  may  be  yours  again! 

When  Pole  and  Thornton  honour  cheques, 

Or  Mr.  Const  a  rogue ; 
When  Jericho's  in  Middlesex, 

Or  minuets  in  vogue; 
When  Highgate  goes  to  Devonport, 

Or  fashion  to  Guildhall; 
When  argument  is  heard  at  Court, 

Or  Mr.  Wynn  at  all; 
When  Sydney  Smith  forgets  to  jest. 

Or  farmers  to  complain ; 
When  kings  that  are  are  not  the  best, 

I  may  be  yours  again ! 

When  peers  from  telling  money  shrink. 

Or  monks  from  telling  lies ; 
When  hydrogen  begins  to  sink, 

Or  Grecian  scrip  to  rise; 
When  German  poets  cease  to  dream, 

Americans  to  guess; 
When  Freedom  sheds  her  holy  beam 

On  Negroes,  and  the  Press; 
When  there  is  any  fear  of  Kome, 

Or  any  hope  of  Spain; 
When  Ireland  is  a  happy  home, 

I  may  be  yours  again! 

When  you  can  cancel  what  has  been. 

Or  alter  what  must  be, 
Or  bring  once  more  that  vanished  sceno, 

Those  withered  joys  to  me; 
When  you  can  tune  the  broken  lute. 

Or  deck  the  blighted  wreath, 
Or  rear  the  garden's  richest  fruit. 

Upon  a  blasted  heath ; 
When  you  can  lure  the  wolf  at  bay 

Back  to  his  shattered  chain. 
To-day  may  then  be  yesterday — 

I  may  be  yours  again! 

Winthrop  Mackworth  Praed. 


330  Satire 


SONG 


Go  and  catch  a  falling  star, 

Get  with  child  a  mandrake  root; 
Tell  me  where  all  past  years  are, 

Or  who  cleft  the  Devil's  foot; 
Teach  me  to  hear  Mermaids  singing,^ — 
Or  to  keep  off  envy's  stinging, 
And  find 
What  wind 
Serves  to  advance  an  honest  mind. 

If  thou  beest  born  to  strange  sights, 

Things  invisible  to  see, 
Ride  ten  thousand  days  and  nights, 

Till  age  snow  white  hairs  on  thee; 
Thou,  when  thou  return'st,  wilt  tell  me 
All  strange  wonders  that  befell  thee, 
And  swear 
Nowhere 
Lives  a  woman  true  and  fair. 

If  thou  find'st  one,  let  me  know; 
Such  a  pilgrimage  were  sweet. 
Yet  do  not;  I  would  not  go, 

Though  at  next  door  we  might  meet. 
Though  she  were  true  when  you  met  her, 
And  last  till  you  write  your  letter, 
Yet  she 
Will  be 
False,  ere  I  come,  to  two  or  three. 

John  Donne. 


THE  OUBIT 

It  was  an  hairy  oubit,  sae  proud  he  crept  alangj 

A  feckless  hairy  oubit,  and  merrily  he  sang: 

"My  Minnie  bade  me  bide  at  home  until  T  won  my  wingsj 

I  shew  her  soon  my  soul's  aboon  the  warks  o'  creeping  things." 


Double  Ballade  of  Primitive  Man  331 

This  feckless  hairy  ouhit  cam'  hirpling  by  the  linn, 
A  swirl  o'  wind  cam'  doun  the  glen,  and  blew  that  oubit  in. 
Oh,  when  he  took  the  water,  the  saumon  fry  they  rose. 
And  tigg'd  him  a'  to  pieces  sma',  by  head  and  tail  and  toes. 

Tak'   warning  then,  young  poets   a',   by   this  poor   oubit's 

shame; 
Though  Pegasus  may  nicher  loud,  keep  Pegasus  at  hame. 
O  baud  your  hands  frae  inkhorns,  though  a'  the  Muses  woo; 
For  critics  lie,  like  saumon  fry,  to  mak'  their  meals  o'  you. 

Charles  Kingsley. 


DOUBLE  BALLADE  OF  PRIMITIVE  MAN 

He  lived  in  a  cave  by  the  seas, 

He  lived  upon  oysters  and  foes, 
But  his  list  of  forbidden  degrees 

An  extensive  morality  shows; 
Geological  evidence  goes 

To  prove  he  had  never  a  pan, 
But  he  shaved  with  a  shell  when  he  chose, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

He  worshipped  the  rain  and  the  breeze. 

He  worshipped  the  river  that  flows. 
And  the  Dawn,  and  the  Moon,  and  the  trees 

And  bogies,  and  serpents,  and  crows; 
He  buried  his  dead  with  their  toes 

Tucked-up,  an  original  plan. 
Till  their  kneea  came  right  under  their  nose, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

His  communal  wives,  at  his  ease, 

He  would  curb  with  occasional  blows 
Or  his  State  had  a  queen,  like  the  bees 

(As  another  philosopher  trows)  : 
When  he  spoke,  it  was  never  in  prose. 

But  he  sang  in  a  strain  that  would  scan, 
For  (to  doubt  it,  perchance,  were  morose) 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Manl 


332  Satire 

On  the  coasts  that  incessantly  freeze, 

With  his  stones,  and  his  bones,  and  his  bows, 
On  luxuriant  tropical  leas, 

Where  the  summer  eternally  glows. 
He  is  found,  and  his  habits  disclose 

(Let  theology  say  what  she  can) 
That  he  lived  in  the  long,  long  agos, 

Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man ! 

From  a  status  like  that  of  the  Crees 

Our  society's  fabric  arose, — 
Developed,  evolved,  if  you  please, 

But  deluded  chronologists  chose. 
In  a  fancied  accordance  with  Mos 
.  es,  4000  B.C.  for  the  span 
When  he  rushed  on  the  world  and  its  woes, — 

'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man. 

But  the  mild  anthropologist — he's 

Not  recent  inclined  to  suppose 
Flints  Palaeolithic  like  these. 

Quaternary  bones  such  as  those! 
In  Rhinoceros,  Mammoth  and  Co.'s 

First  epoch  the  Human  began 
Theologians  all  to  expose, — 

'Tis  the  mission  of  Primitive  Man. 

ENVOY 

Max,  proudly  your  Aryans  pose. 

But  their  rigs  they  undoubtedly  ran, 

For,  as  every  Darwinian  knows, 

^Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man! 

Andrew  Lang, 


PHILLIS'S  AGE 

How  old  may  PhilUs  be,  you  ask. 

Whose  beauty  thus  all  hearts  engages? 

To  answer  is  no  easy  task : 
For  she  has  really  two  ages. 


Phillis's  Age  333 

Stiff  in  brocade,  and  pinch*d  in  stays. 

Her  patches,  paint,  and  jewels  on ; 
All  day  let  envy  view  her  face. 

And  Phillis  is  but  twenty-one. 

Paint,  patches,  jewels  laid  aside, 

At  night  astronomers  agree. 
The  evening  has  the  day  belied; 

And  Phillis  is  some  forty-three. 

Matthew  Prior. 


V 

CYNICISM 

GOOD  AND  BAD  LUCK 

Good  Luck  is  the  gayest  of  all  gay  girls; 

Long  in  one  place  she  will  not  stay: 
Back  from  your  brow  she  strokes  the  curls, 

Kisses  you  quick  and  flies  away. 

But  Madame  Bad  Luck  soberly  comes 
And  stays — no  fancy  has  she  for  flitting; 

Snatches  of  true-love  songs  she  hums, 
And  sits  by  your  bed,  and  brings  her  knitting. 

John  Hay, 


BANGKOLIDYE 

"Gimme  my  scarlet  tie," 

Says  L 
"  Gimme  my  brownest  boots  and  hat, 
Gimme  a  vest  with  a  pattern  fancy, 
Gimme  a  gel  with  some  style,  like  Nancy, 
And  then — well,  it's  gimes  as  I'll  be  at, 
Seein'  as  its  bangkolidye," 

Says  I. 


"  May  miss  it,  but  we'll  try," 

Says  I. 
Nancy  ran  like  a  frightened  'en 
Hup  the  steps  of  the  bloomin'  styeshun. 
Bookin'-orfus  at  last!    Salvyeshun! 
334 


Bangkolidye  885 

An'  the  two  returns  was  five-and-ten. 
"  An'  travellin'  mikes  your  money  fly," 

Says  I. 

"  This  atmosphere  is  'igh," 

Says  I. 
Twelve  in  a  carriage  is  pretty  thick, 
When  'ite  of  the  twelve  is  a  sittin',  smokin'; 
Nancy  started  'er  lawkin,  and  jokin', 
Syin'  she  'oped  as  we  shouldn't  be  sick; 
"  Don't  go  on,  or  you'll  mike  me  die !  " 

Says  I. 

"  Three  styeshuns  we've  porst  by," 

Says  I. 
"  So  hout  we  get  at  the  next,  my  gel." 
When  we  got  hout,  she  wer  pale  and  saint-like, 
White  in  the  gills,  and  sorter  faint-like, 
An'  said  my  cigaw  'ad  a  powerful  smell, 
"  Well,  it's  the  sime  as  I  always  buy," 

Says  I. 

"  'Ites  them  clouds  in  the  sky," 

Says  I. 
"  Don't  like  'em  at  all,"  I  says,  "  that's  flat- 
Black  as  your  boots  and  sorter  thick'nin'." 
"  If  it's  wet,"  says  she,  "  it  will  be  sick'nin'. 
I  wish  as  I'd  brought  my  other  'at." 
"  You  thinks  too  much  of  your  finery," 

Says  I. 

"Keep  them  sanwidjus  dry," 

Says  I, 
When  the  rine  came  down  in  a  reggiler  sheet. 
But  what  can  yo  do  with  one  umbrella. 
And  a  damp  gel  strung  on  the  arm  of  a  fella? 
"  Well,  rined-on  'am  ain't  pleasant  to  eat, 
If  yer  don't  believe  it,  just  go  an  try," 

Says  I. 


336  Cynicism 

"  There  is  some  gels  whort  cry," 

Says  I. 
"  And  there  is  some  don't  shed  a  tear, 
But  just  get  tempers,  and  when  they  has'em 
Reaches  a  pint  in  their  sarcasem. 
As  on'y  a  dorg  could  bear  to  'ear." 
This  unto  Nancy  by-and-by. 

Says  I. 


All's  hover  now.    And  why, 

Says  I. 

But  why  did  I  wear  them  boots,  that  vest  ? 

The  bloom  is  off  'em;  they're  sad  to  see; 

And  hev'rythin's  off  twixt  Nancy  and  me; 

And  my  trousers  is  off  and  gone  to  be  pressed — 

And  ain't  this  a  blimed  bangkolidye? 

Says  I. 

Barry  Pain 


PENSf  ES  DE  NOEl 

When  the  landlord  wants  the  rent 

Of  your  humble  tenement; 

When  the  Christmas  bills  begin 

Daily,  hourly  pouring  in; 

When  you  pay  your  gas  and  poor  rate. 

Tip  the  rector,  fee  the  curate. 

Let  this  thought  your  spirit  cheer — 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 


When  the  man  who  brings  the  coal 
Claims  his  customary  dole: 
When  the  postman  rings  and  knocks 
For  his  usual  Christmas-box: 
When  you're  dunned  by  half  the  town 
With  demands  for  half-a-crown, — 
Think,  although  they  cost  you  dear, 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 


A  Ballade  of  an  Anti-Puritan  837 

When  you  roam  irom  shop  to  shop, 
Seeking,  till  you  nearly  drop, 
Christmas  cards  and  small  donations 
For  the  maw  of  your  relations, 
Questing  vainly  'mid  the  heap 
For  a  thing  that's  nice,  and  cheap: 
Think,  and  check  the  rising  tear, 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

Though  for  three  successive  days 
Business  quits  her  usual  ways; 
Though  the  milkman's  voice  be  dumb; 
Though  the  paper  doesn't  come ; 
Though  you  want  tobacco,  but 
Find  that  all  the  shops  are  shut: 
Bravely  still  your  sorrows  bear — 
Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

When  mince-pies  you  can't  digest 
Join  with  waits  to  break  your  rest: 
When,  oh  when,  to  crown  your  woe, 
Persons  who  might  better  know 
Think  it  needful  that  you  should 
Don  a  gay  convivial  mood : — 

Bear  with  fortitude  and  patience 

These  afflicting  dispensations: 

Man  was  born  to  suffer  here: 

Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year. 

A.  D.  Godley. 


A  BALLADE  OF  AN  ANTI-PURITAN 

They  spoke  of  Progress  spiring  round. 
Of  Light  and  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward — 
It  is  not  true  to  say  I  frowned. 
Or  ran  about  the  room  and  roared ; 
I  might  have  simply  sat  and  snored — 
I  rose  politely  in  the  club 
And  said,  "  I  feel  a  little  bored ; 
Will  someone  take  me  to  a  pub  ?  " 


338  Cynicism 

The  new  world's  wisest  did  surround 

Me ;  and  it  pains  me  to  record 

I  did  not  think  their  views  profound, 

Or  their  conclusions  well  assured; 

The  simple  life  I  can't  afford, 

Besides,  I  do  not  like  the  grub — 

I  want  a  mash  and  sausage,  "  scored  " — ■ 

Will  someone  take  me  to  a  pub? 

I  "know  where  Men  can  still  be  found. 
Anger  and  clamorous  accord, 
And  virtues  growing  from  the  ground, 
And  fellowship  of  beer  and  board. 
And  song,  that  is  a  sturdy  cord, 
And  hope,  that  is  a  hardy  shrub, 
And  goodness,  that  is  God's  last  word — 
Will  someone  take  me  to  a  pub? 

ENVOI 

Prince,  Bayard  would  have  smashed  his  sword 
To  see  the  sort  of  knights  you  dub — 
Is  that  the  last  of  them — O  Lord ! 
Will  someone  take  me  to  a  pub? 

G.  K.  Chesterton. 


PESSIMISM 

In  the  age  that  was  golden,  the  halcyon  time, 

All  the  billows  were  balmy  and  breezes  were  bland. 
Then  the  poet  was  never  hard  up  for  a  rhyme, 
Then  the  milk  and  the  honey  flew  free  and  were  prime, 
And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  was  heard  in  the  land. 

In  the  times  that  are  guilty  the  winds  are  perverse. 
Blowing  fair  for  the  sharper  and  foul  for  the  dupe. 
Now  the  poet's  condition  could  scarcely  be  worse, 
Kow  the  milk  and  the  honey  are  strained  through  the  purse, 
And  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  dead  in  the  soup. 

Newton  Mackintosh. 


Youth  and  Art  039 


CYNICAL  ODE  TO  AN  ULTRA-CYNICAL  PUBLIC 

You  prefer  a  buffoon  to  a  scholar, 

A  harlequin  to  a  teacher, 

A  jester  to  a  statesman. 

An  Anonyma  flaring  on  horseback 

To  a  modest  and  spotless  woman — 

Brute  of  a  public! 


You  think  that  to  sneer  shows  wisdom, 
That  a  gibe  outvalues  a  reason, 
That  slang,  such  as  thieves  delight  in, 
Is  fit  for  the  lips  of  the  gentle, 
And  rather  a  grace  than  a  blemish. 

Thick-headed  public! 


You  think  that  if  merit's  exalted 
Tis  excellent  sport  to  decry  it. 
And  trail  its  good  name  in  the  gutter; 
,And  that  cynics,  white-gloved  and  cravatted. 
Are  the  cream  and  quintessence  of  all  things, 
Ass  of  a  public! 


You  think  that  success  must  be  merit, 
That  honour  and  virtue  and  courage 
Are  all  very  well  in  their  places, 
But  that  money's  a  thousand  times  better; 
Detestable,  stupid,  degraded 

Pig  of  a  public! 

Charles  Mackay. 


YOUTH  AND  ART 

It  once  might  have  been,  once  only : 
We  lodged  in   a  street  together. 

You,*  a  sparrow  on  the  house-top  lonely, 
I,  a  lone  she-bird  of  his  feather. 


340  Cynicism 

Your  trade  was  with  sticks  and  clay, 

You  thumbed,  thrust,  patted  and  polished, 

Then  laughed,  "  They  will  see  some  day 
Smith  made,  and  Gibson  demolished." 


My  business  was  song,  song,  song; 

I  chirped,  cheeped,  trilled  and  twittered, 
"  Kate  Brown's  on  the  boards  ere  long, 

And  Grisi's  existence  embittered!" 

I  earned  no  more  by  a  warble 
Than  you  by  a  sketch  in  plaster; 

You  wanted  a  piece  of  marble, 
I  needed  a  music-master. 

We  studied  hard  in  our  styles, 

Chipped  each  at  a  crust  like  Hindoos, 

For  air,  looked  out  on  the  tiles, 

For  fun  watched  each  other's  windows. 

You  lounged,  like  a  boy  of  the  South, 
Cap  and  blouse — nay,  a  bit  of  beard  too; 

Or  you  got  it  rubbing  your  mouth 
With  fingers  the  clay  adhered  to. 

And  I — soon  managed  to  find 

Weak  points  in  the  flower-fence  facing. 

Was  forced  to  put  up  a  blind 
And  be  safe  in  my  corset-lacing. 

No  harm  I    It  was  not  my  fault 

If  you  never  turned  your  eyes'  tail  up. 

As  I  shook  upon  E  in  alt., 
Or  ran  the  chromatic  scale  up: 

For  spring  bade  the  sparrows  pair. 
And  the  boys  and  girls  gave  guesses, 

And  stalls  in  our  streets  looked  rare     • 
With  bulrush  and  watercresses. 


Youth  and  Art  341 

Why  did  not  you  pinch  a  flower 

In  a  pellet  of  clay  and  fling  it? 
Why  did  I  not  put  a  power 

Of  thanks  in  a  look,  or  sing  it? 

I  did  look,  sharp  as  a  lynx, 

(And  yet  the  memory  rankles,) 
When  models  arrived,  some  minx 

Tripped  up-stairs,  she  and  her  ankles. 

But  I  think  I  gave  you  as  good ! 

"  That  foreign  fellow — who  can  know 
How  she  pays,  in  a  playful  mood, 

For  his  tuning  her  that  piano? " 

Could  you  say  so,  and  never  say, 
"  Suppose  we  join  hands  and  fortunes. 

And  T  fetch  her  from  over  the  way. 

Her,  piano,  and  long  tunes  and  short  tunes?" 

No,  no ;  you  would  not  be  rash. 

Nor  I  rasher  and  something  over: 
You've  to  settle  yet  Gibson's  hash. 

And  Grisi  yet  lives  in  clover. 

But  you  meet  the  Prince  at  the  Board, 

Fm  queen  myself  at  hals-pare, 
IVe  married  a  rich  old  lord, 

And  you're  dubbed  knight  and  an  R.  A. 

Each  life's  unfulfilled,  you  see; 

It  hangs  still,  patchy  and  scrappy : 
We  have  not  sighed  deep,  laughed  free. 

Starved,  feasted,  despaired — been  happy. 

And  nobody  calls  you  a  dunce. 

And  people  suppose  me  clever: 
This  could  but  have  happened  once, 

And  we  missed  it,  lost  it  forever. 

Robert  Browning. 


342  Cynicism 


THE  BACHELOR'S  DREAM 

My  pipe  is  lit,  my  grog  is  mixed, 
My  curtains  drawn  and  all  is  snug; 
Old  Puss  is  in  her  elbow-chair. 
And  Tray  is  sitting  on  the  rug. 
Last  night  I  had  a  curious  dream, 
Miss  Susan  Bates  was  Mistress  Mogg- 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog? 


She  looked  so  fair,  she  sang  so  well, 
I  could  but  woo  and  she  was  won; 
Myself  in  blue,  the  bride  in  white, 
The  ring  was  placed,  the  deed  was  done ! 
Away  we  went  in  chaise-and-four. 
As  fast  as  grinning  boys  could  flog — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog? 


At  times  we  had  a  spar,  and  then 
Mamma  must  mingle  in  the  song — 
The  sister  took  a  sister's  part — 
The  maid  declared  her  master  wrong — 
The  parrot  learned  to  call  me  "  Fool !  '* 
My  life  was  like  a  London  fog — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog? 


My  Susan's  taste  was  superfine, 
As  proved  by  bills  that  had  no  end; 
7  never  had  a  decent  coat — 
7  never  had  a  coin  to  spend ! 
She  forced  me  to  resign  my  club. 
Lay  down  my  pipe,  retrench  my  grog- 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog? 


All  Things  Except  Myself  I  Know  343 

Each  Sunday  night  we  gave  a  rout 
To  fops  and  flirts,  a  pretty  list; 
And  when  I  tried  to  steal  away, 
I  found  my  study  full  of  whist! 
Then,  first  to  come,  and  last  to  go. 
There  always  was  a  Captain  Hogg — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 


Now  was  not  that  an  awful  dream 
For  one  who  single  is  and  snug — 
With  Pussy  in  the  elbow  chair. 
And  Tray  reposing  on  the  rug? — 
If  I  must  totter  down  the  hill, 
'Tis  safest  done  without  a  clog — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog? 

Thomas  Hood. 


ALL  THINGS  EXCEPT  MYSELF  I  KNOW 

I  KNOW  when  milk  does  flies  contain; 

I  know  men  by  their  bravery; 
I  know  fair  days  from  storm  and  rain; 

And  what  fruit  apple-trees  supply; 

And  from  their  gums  the  trees  descry; 
I  know  when  all  things  smoothly  flow; 

I  know  who  toil  or  idle  lie; 
All  things  except  myself  I  know. 

I  know  the  doublet  by  the  grain; 

The  monk  beneath  the  hood  can  spy; 
Master  from  man  can  ascertain; 

I  know  the  nun's  veiled  modesty; 

I  know  when  sportsmen  fables  ply; 
Know  fools  who  creams  and  dainties  stow; 

Wine  from  the  butt  T  certify; 
All  things  except  myself  I  know. 


344  Cynicism 

Know  horse  from  mule  by  tail  and  mane; 

I  know  their  worth  or  high  or  low; 
Bell,  Beatrice,  I  know  the  twain; 

I  know  each  chance  of  cards  and  dice; 

I  know  what  visions  prophesy, 
Bohemian  heresies,  I  trow; 

I  know  men  of  each  quality; 
All  things  except  myself  I  know. 

ENVOY 

Prince,  T  know  all  things  'neath  the  sky, 
Pale  cheeks  from  those  of  rosy  glow; 

I  know  death  whence  can  no  man  fly; 
All  things  except  myself  I  know. 

Francois  Villon. 


THE  JOYS   OF   MARRIAGE 

How  uneasy  is  his  life. 

Who  is  troubled  with  a  wife! 

Be  she  ne'er  so  fair  or  comely, 

Be  she  ne'er  so  foul  or  homely, 

Be  she  ne'er  so  young  and  toward. 

Be  she  ne'er  so  old  and  froward. 

Be  she  kind,  with  arms  enfolding, 

Be  she  cross,  and  always  scolding, 

Be  she  blithe  or  melancholy. 

Have  she  wit,  or  have  she  folly. 

Be  she  wary,  be  she  squandering, 

Be  she  staid,  or  be  she  wandering. 

Be  she  constant,  be  she  fickle. 

Be  she  fire,  or  be  she  ickle; 

Be  she  pious  or  ungodly. 

Be  she  chaste,  or  what  sounds  oddly: 

Lastly,  be  she  good  or  evil. 

Be  she  saint,  or  be  she  devil, — 

Yet,  uneasy  is  his  life 

Who  is  married  to  a  wife. 

Charles  Cotton. 


The  Ballad  of  Cassandra  Brown  345 


THE  THIRD  PROPOSITION 

If  I  were  thine,  I'd  fail  not  of  endeavour 

The  loftiest, 
To  make  thy  daily  life,  now  and  forever, 

Supremely  blest — 
I'd  watch  thy  moods,  I'd  toil  and  wait,  with  yearning, 
Incessant  incense  at  thy  dear  shrine  burning, 

If  I  were  thine. 

If  thou  wert  mine,  quite  changed  would  be  these  features. 

Then,  I  suspect. 
Thou  wouldst  the  humblest  prove  of  loving  creatures. 

And  not  object 
To  do  the  very  things  I  am  declaring 
I'd  undertake  for  thee,  with  selfless  daring, 

If  thou  wert  mine. 

If  we  were  ours?     And  now,  here  comes  the  riddle! 

How  would  that  work? 
I'm  sure  you*d  never  stoop   to   second  fiddle, 

And — I  might  shirk 
The  part  of  serf.     And,  likewise,  each  might  neither 
Be  willing  slave  or  servitor  of  either, 
I  If  we  were  ours! 

Madeline  Bridges. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  CASSANDRA  BROWN 

Though  I  met  her  in  the  summer,  when  one's  heart  lies 

round  at  ease. 
As  it  were  in   tennis  costume,   and  a  man's  not  hard  to 

please. 
Yet  I  think  that  any  season  to  have  met  her  was  to  love, 
While  her  tones,  unspoiled,  imstudied,  had  the  softness  of 

the  dove. 

At  request  she  read  us  poems  in  a  nook  among  the  pines. 
And  her  artless  voice  lent  music   to  the  least  melodious 
lines ; 


346  Cynicism 

Though   she  lowered   her   shadowing   lashes,   in   an   earnest 

reader's  wise, 
Yet  we  caught  blue,  gracious  glimpses  of  the  heavens  which 

were  her  eyes. 

As  in  paradise  I  listened — ah,  I  did  not  understand 

That   a   little   cloud,    no    larger   than    the    average    human 

hand, 
Might,  as  stated  oft  in  fiction,  spread  into  a  sable  pall. 
When  she  said  that  she  should  study  Elocution  in  the  fall! 

I  admit  her  earliest  efforts  were  not  in  the  Ercles  vein; 
She  began   with  "  Little  Maaybel,  with  her  faayce  against 

the  payne 
And    the   beacon-light    a-t-r-r-remble " — which,    although    it 

made  me  wince. 
Is  a  thing  of  cheerful  nature  to  the  things  she's  rendered 

since. 

Having  heard  the  Soulful  Quiver,  she  acquired  the  Melt- 
ing Mo-o-an, 

And  the  way  she  gave  "Young  Grayhead"  would  have 
liquefied  a  stone. 

Then  the  Sanguinary  Tragic  did  her  energies  employ, 

And  she  tore  my  taste  to  tatters  when  she  slew  "  The  Polish 
Boy." 

It's  not  pleasant  for  a  fellow  when  the  jewel  of  his  soul 
Wades  through  slaughter  on  the  carpet,  while  her  orbs  in 

frenzy  roll; 
What  was  I  that  I  should  murmur  ?    Yet  it  gave  me  grievous 

pain 
That  she  rose  in   social  gatherings,   and   Searched   among 

the  Slain. 

I  was  forced  to  look  upon  her  in  my  desperation  dumb, 
Knowing  well  that  when  her  awful  opportunity  was  come 
She  would   give  us   battle,   murder,   sudden   death   at   very 

least. 
As  a  skeleton  of  warning,  and  a  blight  upon  the  feast. 


J 


What's  In  a  Name?  347 

Once,  ah!  once  I  fell  a-dreaming;  some  one  played  a  polo" 
naise 

I  associated  strongly  with  those  happier  August  days; 

And  I  mused,  "  I'll  speak  this  evening,"  recent  pangs  for- 
gotten quite — 

Sudden  shrilled  a  scream  of  anguish :  "  Curfew  shall  not 
ring  to-night!" 

Ah,   that   sound   was    as   a   curfew,   quenching   rosy,    warm 

romance — 
Were  it  safe  to  wed  a  woman   one   so   oft  would  wish  in 

France? 
Oh,   as  she  "  cul-limbed "  that  ladder,   swift  my  mounting 

hope  came  down, 
I  am  still  a  single  cynic;  she  is  still  Cassandra  Brown  I 

Helen  Gray  Cone. 


WHAT'S  IN  A  NAME? 

In  letters  large  upon  the  frame. 

That  visitors   might  see, 
The  painter  placed  his  humble  name: 

O'Callaghan  McGee. 

And  from  Beersheba  unto  Dan, 

The   critics   with   a   nod 
Exclaimed :    "  This  painting  Irishman 

Adores  his  native  sod. 


"His  stout  heart's  patriotic  flame 
There's  naught  on  earth  can  quell; 

He  takes  no  wild  romantic  name 
To  make  his  pictures  sell ! " 

Then  poets  praise  in  sonnets  neat 
His  stroke  so  bold  and  free; 

No  parlour  wall  was  thought  complete 
That  hadn't  a  McGee. 


348  Cynicism 

All  patriots  before  McGee 
Threw  lavishly  their  gold; 

His  works  in  the  Academy 
Were  very  quickly   sold. 


His  "Digging  Clams  at  Barnegat/' 
His  "  When  the  Morning  smiled," 

His  "  Seven  Miles  from  Ararat," 
His  "  Portrait  of  a  Child," 

Were  purchased  in  a  single  day 
And  lauded  as  divine. — 

That  night  as  in  his  atelier 
The  artist  sipped   his  wine, 

And  looked  upon  his  gilded  frames, 

He  grinned   from   ear   to   ear: — 
"  They  little  think   my  real  name's 

V.  Stuyvesant  De  Vere!" 

R.  K.  Munkittrick. 


TOO  LATE 

"Ah!  si  la  jeunesse  savait, — si  la  vieillesse  pouvait! 

There  sat  an  old  man  on  a  rock, 

And  unceasing  bewailed  him  of  Fate, — 
That  concern  where  we  all  must  take  stock, 
Though  our  vote  has  no  hearing  or  weight; 
And  the  old  man  sang  him  an  old,  old  song, — 
ITever  sang  voice  so  clear  and  strong 
That  it  could  drown  the  old  man's  for  long, 
For  he  sang  the  song  "  Too  late !  too  late ! " 

When  we  want,  we  have  for  our  pains 

The  promise  that  if  we  but  wait 
Till  the  want  has  burned  out  of  our  brains, 

Every  means  shall  be  present  to  state; 


Too  Late  349 

While  we  send  for  the  napkin  the  soup  gets  cold, 
While  the  bonnet  is  trimming  the  face  grows  old, 
When  we've  matched  our  buttons  the  pattern  is  sold 
And  everything  comes  too  late, — too  late! 

"  When  strawberries  seemed  like  red  heavens, — 

Terrapin  stew  a  wild  dream, — 
When  my  brain  was  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
If  my  mother  had  '  folks '  and  ice  cream. 
Then  I  gazed  with  a  lickerish  hunger 
At  the  restaurant  man  and  fruit-monger, — 
But  oh !  how  I  wished  I  were  younger 

When  the  goodies  all  came  in  a  stream !  in  a  stream ! 

"  TVe  a  splendid  blood  horse,  and — a  liver 

That  it  Jars  into  torture  to  trot;      '  '     / 
My  row-boat's  the  gem  of  the  river, — 
Gout  makes  every  knuckle  a  knot ! 

I  can  buy  boundless  credits  on  Paris  and  Rome, 
But  no  palate  for  menus, — no  eyes  for  a  dome, — 
Those  belonged  to  the  youth  who  must  tarry  at  home. 
When  no  home  but  an  attic  he'd  got, — he'd  got ! 

"  How  I  longed,  in  that  lonest  of  garrets. 

Where  the  tiles  baked  my  brains  all  July, 
For  ground  to  grow  two  pecks  of  carrots. 
Two  pigs  of  my  own  in  a  sty, 

A  rosebush, — a  little  thatched  cottage, — 
Two  spoons — love — a  basin  of  pottage! — 
Now  in  freestone  I  sit, — and  my  dotage,^ 

With  a  woman's  chair  empty  close  by,  close  by! 

"  Ah !  now,  though  I  sit  on  a  rock, 

I  have  shared  one  seat  with  the  great; 
T  have  sat — knowing  naught  of  the  clock — 
On  love's  high  throne  of  state; 

But  the  lips  that  kissed,  and  the  arms  that  caressed, 
To  a  mouth  grown  stem  with  delay  were  pressed, 
And  circled  a  breast  that  their  clasp  had  blessed, 
Had  they  only  not  come  too  late,-7-too  late !  " 

Fits  Hugh  Ludlow. 


350  Cynicism 


THE  ANNUITY 

I  GAED  to  spend  a  week  in  Fife — 
An  unco  week  it  proved  to  be — 

For  there  I  met  a  waesome  wife 
Lamentin'  her  viduity. 

Her  grief  brak  out  sae  fierce  and  fell, 

I  thought  her  heart  wad  burst  the  shell ; 

And, — I  was  sae  left  to  myseP, — 
I  sell't  her  an  annuity. 


The  bargain  lookit  fair  eneugh — 

She  just  was  turned  o'  saxty-three — 
I  couldna  guessed  she'd  prove  sae  teugh. 

By  human  ingenuity. 
But  years  have  come,  and  years  have  gane. 
And  there  she's  yet  as  stieve  as  stane — 
The  limmer's  growin'  young  again. 
Since  she  got  her  annuity. 


She's  crined'  awa'  to  bane  and  skin, 
But  that,  it  seems,  is  nought  to  me; 

She's  like  to  live — although  she's  in 
The  last  stage  o'  tenuity. 

She  munches  wi'  her  wizen'd  gums. 

An'  stumps  about  on  legs  o'  thrums; 

But  comes,  as  sure  as  Christmas  comes, 
To  ca'  for  her  annuity. 


I  read  the  tables  drawn  wi'  care 

For  an  insurance  company; 
Her  chance  o'  life  was  stated  there, 

Wi'  perfect  perspicuity. 
But  tables  here  or  tables  there, 
She's  lived  ten  years  beyond  her  share, 
An'  's  like  to  live  a  dozen  mair. 
To  ca'  for  her  annuity. 


The  Annuity  851 

Last  Yule  she  had  a  fearfu'  host, 
I  thought  a  kink  might  set  me  free — 

I  led  her  out,  'mang  snaw  and  frost, 
Wi'  constant  assiduity. 

But  deil  ma'  care — the  blast  gaed  by, 

And  miss'd  the  auld  anatomy — 

It  just  cost  me  a  tooth,  for  bye 
Discharging  her  annuity. 

If  there's  a  sough  o'  cholera. 

Or  typhus, — wha  sae  gleg  as  she? 
She  buys  up  baths,  an'  drugs,  an'  a', 

In  siccan  superfluity! 
She  doesna  need — she's  fever  proof — 
The  pest  walked  o'er  her  very  roof — 
She  tauld  me  sae — an'  then  her  loof 

Held  out  for  her  annuity. 

Ae  day  she  fell,  her  arm  she  brak — 

A  compound  fracture  as  could  be — 
Nae  leech  the  cure  wad  undertake, 

Whate'er  was  the  gratuity. 
It's  cured!     She  handles  't  like  a  flail — 
It  does  as  weel  in  bits  as  hale — 
But  I'm  a  broken  man  mysel' 

Wi'  her  and  her  annuity. 

Her  broozled  flesh  and  broken  banes 

Are  weel  as  flesh  and  banes  can  be. 
She  beats  the  taeds  that  live  in  stanes. 

An'  fatten  in  vacuity! 
They  die  when  they're  exposed  to  air — 
They  canna  thole  the  atmosphere; 
But  her! — expose  her  onywhere — 

She  lives  for  her  annuity. 

If  mortal  means  could  nick  her  thread, 

Sma'  crime  it  wad  appear  to  me; 
Ca't  murder,  or  ca't  homicide, 

I'd  justify  't— an'  do  it  tae. 


352  Cynicism 

But  how  to  fell  a  withered  wife 
That's  carved  out  o'  the  tree  o'  life — 
The  timmer  limmer  daurs  the  knife 
To  settle  her  annuity. 

I'd  try  a  shot:  but  whar's  the  mark? — 
Her  vital  parts  are  hid  frae  me; 

Her  backbane  wanders  through  her  sark 
In  an  unkenn'd  corkscrewity. 

She's  palsified — an  shakes  her  head 

Sae  fast  about,  ye  scarce  can  see; 

It's  past  the  power  o'  steel  or  lead 
To  settle  her  annuity. 

She  might  be  drowned — but  go  she'll  not 
Within  a  mile  o'  loch  or  sea; 

Or  hanged — if  cord  could  grip  a  throat 
O'  siccan  exiguity. 

It's  fitter  far  to  hang  the  rope — 

It  draws  out  like  a  telescope; 

'Twad  tak  a  dreadfu'  length  o'  drop 
To  settle  h^r  annuity. 

Will  puzion  do't? — It  has  been  tried; 

But,  be't  in  hash  or  fricassee. 
That's  just  the  dish  she  can't  abide. 

Whatever  kind  o'  gout  it  hae. 
It's  needless  to  assail  her  doubts, 
She  gangs  by  instinct,  like  the  brutes. 
An'  only  eats  an'  drinks  what  suits 

Hersel'  and  her  annuity. 

The  Bible  says  the  age  o'  man 

Threescore  and  ten,  perchance,  may  be: 
She's  ninety-four.    Let  them  who  can. 

Explain  the  incongruity. 
She  should  hae  lived  afore  the  flood- 
She's  come  o'  patriarchal  blood, 
She's  some  auld  Pagan  mummified 
Alive  for  lier  annuity. 


K.  K.— Can't  Calculate  35^ 

She's  been  embalmed  inside  and  oot — 

She's  sauted  to  the  last  degree — 
There's  pickle  in  her  very  snoot 

Sae  caper-like  an'  cruety. 
Lot's  wife  was  fresh  compared  to  her — 
They've  kyanized  the  useless  knir, 
She  canna  decompose — nae  mair 

Than  her  accursed  annuity. 

The  water-drop  wears  out  the  rock. 

As  this  eternal  jaud  wears  me; 
I  could  withstand  the  single  shock. 

But  not  the  continuity. 
It's  pay  me  here,  an'  pay  me  there, 
An'  pay  me,  pay  me,  evermair — 
I'll  gang  demented  wi'  despair — 

I'm  charged  for  her  annuity. 

George  Outratn. 


K.  K.— CAN'T  CALCULATE 

What  poor  short-sighted  worms  we  be; 

For  we  can't  calculate, 
With  any  sort  of  sartintee. 

What  is  to  be  our  fate. 

These  words  Prissilla's  heart  did  reach. 
And  caused  her  tears  to  flow. 

When  first  she  heard  the  Elder  preach. 
About  six  months  ago. 

How  true  it  is  what  he  did  state. 

And  thus  affected  her. 
That  nobody  can't  calculate 

What  is  a-gwine  to  occur. 

When  we  retire,  can't  calculate 

But  what  afore  the  morn 
Our  housen  will  conflaggerate. 

And  we  be  left  forlorn. 


354  Cynicism 

Can't  calculate  when  we  come  in 
From  any  neighborin'  place, 

Whether  we'll  ever  go  out  agin 
To  look  on  natur's  face. 


Can't  calculate  upon  the  weather, 

It  always  changes  so; 
Hain't  got  no  means  of  telling  whether 

It's  gwine  to  rain  or  snow. 

Can't  calculate  with  no  precision 

On  naught  beneath  the  sky; 
And  so  I've  come  to  the  decision 
That  't  ain't  worth  while  to  try. 

Frances  M.  Whitchcr. 


NORTHERN  FARMER 

NEW   STYLE 

Dosn't  thou  'ear  my  'erse's  legs,  as  they  canters  awaay? 
Proputty,  proputty,  proputty — that's  what  I  'ears  'cm  saiiy. 
Proputty,   proputty,   proputty — Sam,  thou's   an   ass  for  thy 

paains : 
Theer's  moor  sense  i'  one  o'  'is  legs  nor  in  all  thy  braains. 

Woa — theer's  a  craw  to  pluck  wi'  tha,  Sam:  yon's  parson's 

'ouse — 
Dosn't  thou  knaw  that  a  man  mun  be  eather  a  man  or  a 

mouse? 
Time  to  think  on  it,  then;  for  thou'll  be  twenty  to  weeak. 
Proputty,    proputty — woa    then,    woa — let    ma    'ear    mysen 


Me  an'  thy  muther,  Sammy,  'as  bean  a-talkin'  o'  thee; 
Thou's  been  talkin'  to  muther,  an'  she  bean  a-tellin'  it  me. 
Thou'll  not  marry  for  munny — thou's  sweet  upo'   parson's 

lass — 
Noa — thou'll  marry  for  luvv — an'  we  boath  of  us  thinks  tha 

an  ass.  ' 


Northern  Farmer  355 

Seea'd  her  to-daay  goa  by — Saaint's-daay — they  was  ringing 

the  bells. 
She's  a  beauty,  thou  thinks — an'  soa  is  scoors  o'  gells. 
Them  as  'as  munny  an'  all — wot's  a  beauty? — the  flower  as 

blaws. 
But  proputty,  proputty  sticks,  an'  proputty,  proputty  graws. 

Do'ant  be  stunt:  taake  time:  I  knaws  what  maakes  tha  sa 

mad. 
Warn't  I  craazed  fur  the  lasses  mysen  when  I  wur  a  lad? 
But  I  knaw'd  a  Quaaker  feller  as  often  'as  towd  ma  this : 
"  Do'ant  thou  marry  for  munny,  but  goa  wheer  munny  is  I " 


An'  I  went  wheer  munny  war:  an'  thy  mother  coom  to  'and, 
Wi'  lots  o'  munny  laaid  by,  an'  a  nicetish  bit  o'  land. 
Maaybe  she  warn't  a  beauty :  I  niver  giv  it  a  thowt — 
But  warn't  she  as  good  to  cuddle  an'  kiss  as  a  lass  as  'ant 
nowt? 


Parson's  lass  'ant  nowt,  an'  she  weant  'a  nowt  when  'e's  dead, 
Mun  be  a  guvness,  lad,  or  summut,  and  addle  her  bread : 
Why?  fur  'e's  nobbut  a  curate,   an'   weant  niver   git  naw 

'igher; 
An'  'e's  maade  the  bed  as  'e  ligs  on  afoor  'e  coom'd  to  the 

shire. 


An'  thin  'e  coom'd  to  the  parish  wi'  lots  o'  'Varsity  debt, 
Stook  to  his  taail  they  did,  an'  'e  'ant  got  shut  on  'em  yet. 
An'  'e  ligs  on  'is  back  i'  the  grip,  wi  noan  to  lend  'im  a  shove, 
Woorse  nor  a  far-welter'd  yowe:  fur,  Sammy,  'e  married  fur 
luvv. 


Luvv?  what's  luvv?  thou  can  luvv  thy  lass  an'  'er  munny  too, 
Maakin'  'em  goa  togither,  as  they've  good  right  to  do. 
Couldn't  I  luvv  thy  muther  by  cause  o'  'er  munijy  laaYd  by? 
Naay — for  I  luvv'd  her  a  vast  sight  moor  fur   it:   reason 
why. 


356  Cynicism 

Ay,  an'  thy  muther  says  thou  wants  to  marry  the  lass, 
Cooms  of  a  gentleman  burn;  an'  we  boath  on  us  thinks  tha 

an  ass. 
Woii  then,  proputty,  wiltha? — an  ass  as  near  as  mays  nowt — 
Woii  then,  wiltha?  dangtha! — the  bees  is  as  fell  as  owt. 

Break  me  a  bit  o'  the  esh  for  his  'ead,  lad,  out  o'  the  fence! 
Gentleman  burn!     What's  gentleman  burn?     Is  it  shillins 

an'  pence? 
Proputty,  proputty's  ivrything  'ere,   an',  Sammy,  I'm  blest 
If  it  isn't  the  saame  oop  yonder,  fur  them  as  'as  it's  the  best. 

'Tisn'  them  as  'as  munny  as  breaks  into  'ouses  an'  steals, 
Them  as  'as  coots  to  their  backs  an  'taakes  their  regular 

meals. 
Noa,  but  it's  them  as  niver  knaws  wheer  a  meal's  to  be  'ad. 
Taake  my  word  for  it,  Sammy,  the  poor  in  a  loomp  is  bad. 

Them  or  thir  feythers,  tha  sees,  mun  'a  bean  a  laazy  lot. 
Fur  work  mun  'a  gone  to  the  gittin'  whiniver  munny  was 

got. 
Fcyther  'ad  ammost  nowt;  leastways  'is  munny  was  'id. 
But  's  tued  an'  moil'd  'issen  dead,  an'  'e  died  a  good  un,  'e 

did. 

Loook  thou  theer  wheer  Wrigglesby  beck  cooms  out  by  the 

'ill! 
Feyther  run  oop  to  the  farm,  an'  I  runs  oop  to  the  mill ; 
An'  I'll  run  oop  to  the  brig,  an'  that  thou'll  live  to  see; 
And  if  thou  marries  a  good  un  I'll  leave  the  land  to  thee. 

Thim's  my  noations,  Sammy,  wheerby  I  means  to  stick; 
But  (if  thou  marries  a  bad  un,  I'll  leave  the  land  to  Dick. — 
Coom  oop,  proputty,  proputty — that's  what  I  'ears  'im  saay — 
Proputty,  proputty,  proputty — canter  an'  canter  awaay. 

Lord  Tennyson. 


Then  Ag'in  367 

FIN  DE  SifiCLE 

Life  is  a  gift  that  most  of  us  hold  dear : 

I  never  asked  the  spiteful  gods  to  grant  it; 
Held  it  a  bore — in  short;  and  now  it's  here, 
I  do  not  want  it. 

Thrust  into  life,  I  eat,  smoke,  drink,  and  sleep, 
My  mind's  a  blank  I  seldom  care  to  question; 
The  only  faculty  I  active  keep 
Is  my  digestion. 

Like  oyster  on  his  rock,  I  sit  and  jest 

At  others'  dreams  of  love  or  fame  or  pelf. 
Discovering  but  a  languid  interest 
Even  in  myself. 

An  oyster:  ah!  beneath  the  quiet  sea 

To  know  no  care,  no  change,  no  joy,  no  pain. 
The  warm  salt  water  gurgling  into  me 
And  out  again. 

While  some  in  life's  old  roadside  inns  at  ease 

Sit  careless,  all  unthinking  of  the  score 
Mine  host  chalks  up  in  swift  unseen  increase 
Behind  the  door; 

Bound  like  Ixion  on  life's  torture-wheel, 

I  whirl  inert  in  pitiless  gyration. 
Loathing  it  all ;  the  one  desire  I  feel, 
Annihilation ! 

Unknown. 


THEN  AG'IN 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said,  ef  he'd  had  a  fair  show. 
And  a  big  enough  town  for  his  talents  to  grow. 
And  the  least  bit  assistance  in  hoein'  his  row, 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said. 
He'd  filled  the  world  full  of  the  sound  of  his  name, 
An'  dim  the  top  round  in  the  ladder  of  fame. 


358  Cynicism 

It  may  have  been  so; 

I  dunno; 
Jest  so,  it  might  been, 

Then  ag'in — 

But  he  had  tarnal  luck — everythin'  went  ag'in  him. 

The  arrers  of  fortune  they  alius'  'ud  pin  him; 

So  he  didn't  get  no  chance  to  show  off  what  was  in  him. 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said, 
Ef  he'd  had  a  fair  show,  you  couldn't  tell  where  he'd  come, 
An'  the  feats  he'd  a-done,  an'  the  heights  he'd  a-clum — 

It  may  have  been  so; 
I  dunno; 

Jest  so,  it  might  been. 
Then  ag'in — 

But  we're  all  like  Jim  Bowker,  thinks  I,  more  or  less- 
Charge  fate  for  our  bad  luck,  ourselves  for  success, 
An'  give  fortune  the  blame  for  all  our  distress, 

As  Jim  Bowker,  he  said, 
Ef  it  hadn't  been  for  luck  an'  misfortune  an'  sich. 
We  might  a-been  famous,  an'  might  a-been  rich. 
It  might  be  jest  so; 

I  dunno; 
Jest  so,  it  might  been. 
Then  ag'in — 

Sam   Walter  Foss. 


THE  PESSIMIST 

Nothing  to  do  but  work, 
Nothing  to  eat  but  food. 

Nothing  to  wear  but  clothes, 
To  keep  one  from  going  nude. 

Nothing  to  breathe  but  air. 
Quick  as  a  flash  't  is  gone; 

Nowhere  to  fall  but  off, 
Nowhere  to  stand  but  on. 


Without  and  Within  359 

Nothing  to  comb  but  hair, 

Nowhere  to  sleep  but  in  bed. 
Nothing  to  weep  but  tears, 

Nothing  to  bury  but  dead. 

Nothing  to  sing  but  songs. 

Ah,  well,  alas!  alack! 
Nowhere  to  go  but  out, 

Nowhere  to  come  but  back. 

Nothing  to  see  but  sights, 

Nothing  to  quench  but  thirst. 
Nothing  to  have  but  what  we've  got 

Thus  through  life  we  are  cursed. 

Nothing  to  strike  but  a  gait; 

Everything  moves  that  goes. 
Nothing  at  all  but  common  sense 

Can  ever  withstand  these  woes. 

B€n  King. 


WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN 

My  coachman,  in  the  moonlight  there, 
Looks  through  the  side-light  of  the  door;  . 

I  hear  him  with  his  brethren  swear. 
As  I  could  do, — but  only  more. 

Flattening  his  nose  against  the  pane. 

He  envies  me  my  brilliant  lot, 
Breathes  on  his  aching  fist  in  vain, 

And  dooms  me  to  a  place  more  hot. 

He  sees  me  in  to  supper  go, 

A  silken  wonder  by  my  side, 
Bare  arms,  bare  shoulders,  and  a  row 

Of  flounces,  for  the  door  too  wide. 

He  thinks  how  happy  is  my  arm, 

'Neath  its  white-gloved  and  jewelled  load; 
And  wishes  me  some  dreadful  harm. 

Hearing  the  merry  corks  explode. 


360  Cynicism 

Meanwhile  1  inly  curse  the  bore 
Of  hunting  still  the  same  old  coon, 

And  envy  him,  outside  the  door. 
The  golden  quiet  of  the  moon. 

The  winter  wind  is  not  so  cold 

As  the  bright  smile  he  sees  me  win, 

Nor  the  host's  oldest  wine  so  old 
As  our  poor  gabble,  sour  and  thin. 

I  envy  him  the  rugged  prance 

By  which  his  freezing  feet  he  warms. 

And  drag  my  lady's  chains,  and  dance, 
The  galley-slave  of  dreary  forms. 

Oh,  could  he  have  my  share  of  din. 

And  I  his  quiet — past  a  doubt 
'Twould  still  be  one  man  bored  within. 

And  just  another  bored  without. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


SAME  OLD  STORY 

History,  and  nature,  too,  repeat  themselves,  they  say; 
Men  are  only  habit's  slaves;  we  see  it  every  day. 
Life  has  done  its  best  for  me — I  find  it  tiresome  still; 
For  nothing's  everything  at  all,  and  everything  is  nil. 

Same  old  get-up,  dress,  and  tub; 

Same  old  breakfast;  same  old  club; 

Same  old  feeling;  same  old  blue; 

Same  old  story — nothing  new! 

Life  consists  of  paying  bills  as  long  as  you  have  health ; 
Woman?    She'll  be  true  to  you — as  long  as  you  have  wealth; 
Think  sometimes  of  marriage,  if  the  right  girl  I  could  strike; 
But  the  more  T  see  of  girls,  the  more  they  are  alike. 

Same  old  giggles,  smiles,  and  eyes; 

Same  old  kisses;  same  old  sighs; 

Same  old  chaff  you;  same  adieu; 

Same  old  story— nothing  new! 


Same  Old  Story  361 

Go  to  theatres  sometimes  to  see  the  latest  plays ; 
Same  old  plots  I  played  with  in  my  happy  childhood's  days; 
Hero,  same;  same  villain;  and  same  heroine  in  tears, 
Starving,  homeless,  in  the  snow — with  diamonds  in  her  ears. 

Same  stern  father  making  "  bluffs  " ; 

Leading  man  all  teeth  and  cuffs; 

Same  soubrettes,  still  twenty-two; 

Same  old  story — nothing  new ! 

Friend  of  mine  got  married;  in  a  year  or  so,  a  boy  I 
Father  really  foolish  in  his  fond  paternal  joy; 
Talked  about  that  "  kiddy,"  and  became  a  dreadful  bore — ■ 
Just  as  if  a  baby  never  had  been  born  before. 

Same  old  crying,  only  more; 

Same  old  business,  walking  floor; 

Same  old  "  kitchy — coochy — coo !  " 

Same  old  baby — nothing  new! 

Harry  B.  Smith. 


VI 
EPIGRAMS 

WOMAN'S  WILL 

Men,  dying,  make  their  wills,  but  wives 

Escape  a  work  so  sad; 
Why  should  they  make  what  all  their  lives 

The  gentle  dames  have  had? 

John  G.  Sax€. 


CYNICUS  TO  W.  SHAKESPEAKE 

You  wrote  a  line  too  much,  my  sage, 
Of  seers  the  first,  and  first  of  sayers; 

For  only  half  the  world's  a  stage. 
And  only  all  the  women  players. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 


SENEX    TO  MATT.  PKIOE 

Ah!  Matt,  old  age  has  brought  to  me 
Thy  wisdom,  less  thy  certainty; 
The  world's  a  jest,  and  joy's  a  trinket; 
I  knew  that  once, — but  now  I  think  it. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 


TO  A  BLOCKHEAD 

You  beat  your  pate,  and  fancy  wit  will  come : 
Knock  as  you  please,  there's  nobody  at  home. 

Alexander  Pope. 
362 


Epigrams  363 


THE  FOOL  AND  THE  POET 

Sir,  I  admit  your  general  rule, 
That  every  poet  is  a  fool, 
But  you  yourself  may  serve  to  show  it, 
That  every  fool  is  not  a  poet. 

Alexander  Pope. 


A  RHYMESTER 

Jem  writes  his  verses  with  more  speed 
Than  the  printer's  boy  can  set  'em ; 

Quite  as  fast  as  we  can  read. 

And  only  not  so  fast  as  we  forget  'em. 

Samuel  Tayhr  Coleridge. 


GILES'S  HOPE 

What?  rise  again  with  all  one's  bones. 

Quoth  Giles,  I  hope  you  fib : 
I  trusted,  when  I  went  to  Heaven, 

To  go  without  my  rib. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


COLOGNE 

In  Koln,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones. 

And  pavements  fanged  with  murderous  stones, 

And  rags,  and  hags,  and  hideous  wenches, 

I  counted  two-and-seventy  stenches, 

All  well  defined,  and  separate  stinks ! 

Ye  nymphs  that  reign  o'er  sewers  and  sinks, 

The  river  Rhine,  it  is  well  known. 

Doth  wash  your  city  of  Cologne; 

But  tell  me,  nymphs,  what  power  divine 

Shall  henceforth  wash  the  river  Rhine  ? 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridgi, 


364  Epigrams 

AN  ETERNAL  POEM 

Your  poem  must  eternal  be. 
Dear  sir,  it  can  not  fail, 
For  'tis  incomprehensible. 
And  wants  both  head  and  tail. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


ON  A  BAD  SINGER 

Swans  sing  before  they  die : — 'twere  no  bad  thing, 
Should  certain  persons  die  before  they  sing. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 


JOB 

Sly  Beelzebub  took  all  occasions 

To  try  Job's  constancy  and  patience. 

He  took  his  honor,  took  his  health; 

He  took  his  children,  took  his  wealth, 

His  servants,  horses,  oxen,  cows, — 

But  cunning  Satan  did  not  take  his  spouse. 

But  Heaven,  that  brings  out  good  from  evil, 

And  loves  to  disappoint  the  devil, 

Had  predetermined  to  restore 

Twofold  all  he  had  before; 

His  servants,  horses,  oxen,  cows — 

Short-sighted  devil,  not  to  take  his  spouse  I 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge. 

REASONS  EOR  DRINKING 

If  all  be  true  that  I  do  think, 
There  are  five  reasons  we  should  drink; 
Good  wine — a  friend — or  being  dry — 
Or  lest  we  should  be  by  and  by — 
Or  any  other  reason  why. 

Dr.  Henry  Aldrich, 


Epigrams  365 

SMATTERERS 

All  smatterers  are  more  brisk  and  pert 
Than  those  that  understand  an  art; 
As  little  sparkles  shine  more  bright 
Than  glowing  coals,  that  give  them  light. 

Samuel  Butler. 


HYPOCRISY 

Hypocrisy  will  serve  as  well 
To  propagate  a  church,  as  zeal; 
As  persecution  and  promotion 
Do  equally  advance  devotion: 
So  round  white  stones  will  serve,  they  say, 
As  well  as  eggs  to  make  hens  lay. 

Samuel  Butler. 


TO  DOCTOR  EMPIRIC 

When  men  a  dangerous  disease  did  'scape, 
Of  old,  they  gave  a  cock  to  ^sculape; 
Let  me  give  two,  that  doubly  am  got  free ; 
From  my  disease's  danger,  and  from  thee. 

B€n  Jonsor. 


A  REMEDY  WORSE  THAN  THE  DISEASE 

I  SENT  for  Ratcliffe ;  was  so  ill. 
That  other  doctors  gave  me  over: 

He  felt  my  pulse,  prescribed  his  pill, 
And  I  was  likely  to  recover. 

But  when  the  wit  began  to  wheeze, 
And  wine  had  warm'd  the  politician, 

Cured  yesterday  of  my  disease, 
I  died  last  night  of  my  physician. 

Matthew  Prior. 


366  Epigrams 


A  WIFE 

Lord  Erskine,  at  women  presuming  to  rail, 
Calls  a  wife  "  a  tin  canister  tied  to  one's  tail " ; 
And  fair  Lady  Anne,  while  the  subject  he  carries  on, 
Seems  hurt  at  his  Lordship's  degrading  comparison. 
But  wherefore  degrading?  consider'd  aright, 
A  canister's  useful,  and  polish'd,  and  bright: 
And  should  dirt  its  original  purity  hide, 
That's  the  fault  of  the  puppy  to  whom  it  is  tied. 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan. 


THE  HONEY-MOON 

The  honey-moon  is  very  strange. 
Unlike  all  other  moons  the  change 

She  regularly  undergoes. 
She  rises  at  the  full ;  then  loses 
Much  of  her  brightness ;  then  reposes 

Faintly;  and  then  .    .  has  naught  to  lose. 

Walter  Savage  Landor. 

DEDO 

IMPROMPTU   EPIGRAM   ON   THE   LATIN   GERUNDS 

When  Dido  found  ^neas  would  not  come, 
She  mourn'd  in  silence,  and  was  Di-do-dumQ)). 

Richard  Porson. 

AN  EPITAPH 

A  LOVELY  young  lady  I  mourn  in  my  rhymes : 

She  was  pleasant,  good-natured,  and  civil  sometimes. 

Her'figure  was  good:  she  had  very  fine  eyes. 

And  her  talk  was  a  mixture  of  foolish  and  wise. 

Her  adorers  were  many,  and  one  of  them  said, 

"  She  waltzed  rather  well !    It's  a  pity  she's  dead !  " 

George  John  Cayley. 


Epigrams  367 


ON  TAKING  A  WIFE 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "  at  your  time  of  life, 
There's  no  longer  excuse  for  thus  playing  the  rake. — 

It  is  time  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a  wife." — 
"  Why,  so  it  is,  father, — whose  wife  shall  I  take  ? " 

Thomas  Moore. 


UPON  BEING  OBLIGED  TO  LEAVE  A  PLEASANT 
PAETY 

FROM  THE  WANT  OF  A  PAIR  OF  BREECHES  TO  DRESS 
FOR  DINNER  IN 

Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  difference  is. 
Though  a  paradise  each  has  been  forced  to  resign. 

That  he  never  wore  breeches  till  turn'd  out  of  his. 
While,  for  want  of  my  breeches,  I'm  banish'd  from  mine. 

Thomas  Moore. 


SOME  LADIES 

Some  ladies  now  make  pretty  songg. 

And  some  make  pretty  nurses; 
Some  men  are  great  at  righting  wrongs 

And  some  at  writing  verses. 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


ON  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOUE 

He  cannot  be  complete  in  aught 

Who  is  not  humorously  prone; 
A  man  without  a  merry  thought 

Can  hardly  have  a  funny-bone. 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson. 


36$  lEpigrams 

ON  HEAKING  A  LADY  PRAISE  A  CERTAIN 
REV.  DOCTOR'S  EYES 

I  CANNOT  praise  the  Doctor's  eyes ; 

I  never  saw  his  glance  divine; 
He  always  shuts  them  when  he  prays, 

And  when  he  preaches  he  shuts  mine. 

George  Outram. 


EPITAPH  INTENDED  FOR  HIS  WIFE 

Here  lies  my  wife:  here  let  her  lie! 
Now  she's  at  rest,  and  so  am  I. 

John  Dryden. 


TO  A  CAPRICIOUS  FRIEND 

IMITATED   FROM   MARTIAL 

In  all  thy  humors,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou  'rt  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow ; 
Hast  so  much  wit,  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee, 
There  is  no  living  with  thee,  nor  without  thee. 

Joseph  Addison. 


WHICH  IS  WHICH 

"  God  bless  the  King!    God  bless  the  faith's  defender! 
God  bless — no  harm  in  blessing — the  Pretender. 
But  who  pretender  is,  and  who  is  king, 
God  bless  us  all,  that's  quite  another  thing." 

John  Byrotn. 


Epigrams  369 

ON  A  FULL-LENGTH  PORTRAIT  OF  BEAU  MARSH 

PLACED  BETWEEN  THE  BUSTS  OF  NEWTON  AND  POPE 

-    "  Immortal  Newton  never  spoke 

More  truth  than  here  you'll  find; 
Nor  Pope  himseK  e'er  penn'd  a  joke     * 
More  cruel  on  mankind. 

"The  picture  placed  the  busts  between. 
Gives  satire  all  its  strength; 
Wisdom  and  Wit  are  little  seen — 
But  Folly  at  full  length." 

Lord  Chesterfield. 


ON  SCOTLAND 

"Had  Cain  been  Scot,  God  would  have  changed  his  doom; 
Nor  forced  him  wander,  but  confined  him  home." 

Cleveland. 


MEND AX 

See  yonder  goes  old  Mendax,  telling  lies 
To  that  good  easy  man  with  whom  he's  walking; 
How  know  I  that?  you  ask,  with  some  surprise; 
Why,  don't  you  see,  my  friend,  the  fellow's  talking. 

Lessing, 


TO  A  SLOW  WALKER  AND  QUICK  EATER 

So  slowly  you  walk,  and  so  quickly  you  eat, 
You  should  march  with  your  mouth,  and  devour  with  your 
feet. 

Lessing. 


370  Epigrams 


WHAT'S  MY  THOUGHT  LIKE? 

Quest. — ^Why  is  a  Pump  like  Viscount  Castlereagh? 

Answ. — Because  it  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood, 
That  up  and  down  its  awkward  arm  doth  sway, 
And  coolly  spout,  and  spout,  and  spout  away. 

In  one  weak,  washy,  everlasting  flood! 

Thomas  Moore. 


OF  ALL  THE  MEN 

Of  all  the  men  one  meets  about. 

There's  none  like  Jack — he's  everywhere: 
At  church — park — auction — dinner — rout — 

Go  when  and  where  you  will,  he's  there. 
Try  the  West  End,  he's  at  your  back — 

Meets  you,  like  Eurus,  in  the  East — 
You're  call'd  upon  for  ^'  How  do,  Jack  ?  " 

One  hundred  times  a  day,  at  least. 
A  friend  of  his  one  evening  said. 

As  home  he  took  his  pensive  way, 
"  Upon  my  soul,  I  fear  Jack's  dead— 

I've  seen  him  but  three  times  to-day !  " 

Thomas  Moore. 


ON  BUTLEK'S  MONUMENT 

While  Butler,  needy  wretch,  was  yet  alive. 

No  generous  patron  would  a  dinner  give. 

See  him,  when  starved  to  death  and  turn'd  to  dust, 

Presented  with  a  monumental  bust. 

The  poet's  fate  is  here  in  emblem  shown — 

He  ask'd  for  bread,  and  he  received  a  stone. 

Rev.  Samuel  Wesley. 


Epigrams  371 

A  CONJUGAL  CONUNDRUM 

Which  is  of  greater  value,  prythee,  say, 

The  Bride  or  Bridegroom? — must  the  truth  be  told? 
Alas,  it  must!     The  Bride  is  given  away —   • 

The  Bridegroom's  often  regularly  sold. 

Unknown. 


VII 
BURLESQUE 

LOVERS  AND  A  REFLECTION 

En  moss-prankt  dells  which  the  sunbeams  flatter 
(And  heaven  it  knoweth  what  that  may  mean; 

Meaning,  however,  is  no  great  matter) 
Where  woods  are  a-tremble  with  words  a-tween; 

Thro'  God's  own  heather  we  wonned  together, 

I  and  my  Willie  (O  love  my  love)  : 
I  need  hardly  remark  it  was  glorious  weather, 

And  flitter-bats  wavered  alow,  above: 

Boats  were  curtseying,  rising,  bowing, 
(Boats  in  that  climate  are  so  polite,) 

And  sands  were  a  ribbon  of  green  endowing, 
And  O  the  sun-dazzle  on  bark  and  bight! 

Thro'  the  rare  red  heather  we  danced  together 
(O  love  my  Willie,)  and  smelt  for  flowers : 

I  must  mention  again  it  was  glorious  weather. 
Rhymes  are  so  scarce  in  this  world  of  ours: 

By  rises  that  flushed  with  their  purple  favors, 
Thro'  becks  that  brattled  o'er  grasses  sheen. 

We  walked  or  waded,  we  two  young  shavers. 
Thanking  our  stars  we  were  both  so  green. 

We  journeyed  in  parallels,  I  and  Willie, 

In  fortunate  parallels!    Butterflies, 
Hid  in  weltering  shadows  of  daffodilly 

Or  Marjoram,  kept  making  peacock  eyes: 

372 


Lovers  and  a  Reflection  373 

Song-birds  darted  about,  some  inky 

As  coal,  some  snowy  (I  ween)  as  Ciyds; 
Or  rosy  as  pinks,  or  as  roses  pinky — 

They  reck  of  no  eerie  To-come,  those  birds! 

But  they  skim  over  bents  which  the  mill-stream  washes. 
Or  hang  in  the  lift  'neath  a  white  cloud's  hem; 

They  need  no  parasols,  no  goloshes; 
And  good  Mrs.  Trimmer  she  feedeth  them. 

Then  we  thrid  God's  cowslips  (as  erst  his  heather), 
That  endowed  the  wan  grass  with  their  golden  blooms; 

And  snapt — (it  was  perfectly  charming  weather) — 
Our  fingers  at  Fate,  and  her  goddess-glooms : 

And  Willie  'gan  sing — (Oh,  his  notes  were  fluty; 

Wafts  fluttered  them  out  to  the  white-winged  sea) — 
Something  made  up  of  rhymes  that  have  done  much  duty, 

Khymes  (better  to  put  it)  of  "  ancientry  " : 

Bowers  of  flowers  encountered  showers 

In  William's  carol — (O  love  my  Willie!) 
Then  he  bade  sorrow  borrow  from  blithe  to-morrow 

I  quite  forget  what — say  a  daffodilly. 

A  nest  in  a  hollow,  "with  buds  to  follow,'' 

I  think  occurred  next  in  his  nimble  strain ; 
And  clay  that  was  "  kneaden  "  of  course  in  Eden — 

A  rhyme  most  novel  I  do  maintain: 

Mists,  bones,  the  singer  himself,  love-stories. 

And  all  least  f urlable  things  got  furled ; 
Not  with  any  design  to  conceal  their  glories. 

But  simply  and  solely  to  rhyme  with  world. 

0  if  billows  and  pillows  and  hours  and  flowers. 

And  all  the  brave  rhymes  of  an  elder  day. 
Could  be  furled  together,  this  genial  weather. 

And  carted  or  carried  on  wafts  away, 
Nor  ever  again  trotted  out — ah  me ! 
How  much  fewer  volumes  of  verse  there'd  be. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


374  Burlesque 


OUR  HYMN 


At  morning's  call 

The  small-voiced  pug  dog  welcomes  in  the  sun, 
And  flea-bit  mongrels  wakening  one  by  one, 
Give  answer  all. 


When  evening  dim 

Draws  rounds  us,  then  the  lovely  caterwaul, 
Tart  solo,  sour  duet  and  general  squall, 
These  are  our  hymn. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


"SOLDIER,  REST!'' 

A  Russian  sailed  over  the  blue  Black  Sea 

Just  when  the  war  was  growing  hot. 
And  he  shouted,  "  I'm  Tjalikavakeree — 
Karindabrolikanavandorot — 
Schipkadirova — 
Ivandiszstova — 
Sanilik — 
Danilik — 
Varagobhot ! " 


A  Turk  was  standing  upon  the  shore 

Right  where  the  terrible  Russian  crossed; 
And  he  cried,  "Bismillah!    I'm  Abd  el  Kor- 
Bazaroukilgon  autoskobrosk — 
Getzinpravadi — 
Kilgekosladji — 
Grivido — 
Blivido— 
Jenikodosk ! " 


Imitation  375 

So  they  stood  like  brave  men,  long  and  well, 

And  they  called  each  other  their  proper  names, 
Till  the  lockjaw  seized  them,  and  where  they  fell 
They  buried  them  both  by  the  Irdosholames — 
Kalatalustchuk — 
Mischaribustchup — 
Bulgari — 
Dulgari — 
Sagharimainz. 

Robert  J.  Burdette. 

IMITATION 

Calm  and  implacable, 

Eying  disdainfully  the  world  beneath, 

Sat  Humpty-Dumpty  on  his  mural  eminence 

In  solemn  state: 

And  I  relate  his  story 

In  verse  unfettered  by  the  bothering  restrictions  of  rhyme 

or  metre, 
In  verse  (or  "  rhythm,"  as  I  prefer  to  call  it) 
Which,  consequently,  is  far  from  difficult  to  write. 

He  sat.    And  at  his  feet 

The  world  passed  on — the  surging  crowd 

Of  men  and  women,  passionate,  turgid,  dense. 

Keenly  alert,  lethargic,  or  obese. 

(Those  two  lines  scan !) 

Among  the  rest 

He  noted  Jones;  Jones  with  his  Roman  nose. 

His  eyebrows — the  left  one  streaked  with  a  dash  of  gray — 

And  yellow  boots. 

Not  that  Jones 

Has  anything  in  particular  to  do  with  the  story; 

But  a  descriptive  phrase 

Like  the  above  shows  that  the  writer  is 

A  Master  of  Realism. 

Let  us  proceed.    Suddenly  from  his  seat 
Did  Humpty-Dumpty  slip.    Vainly  he  clutched 
The  impalpable  air.    Down  and  down. 
Right  to  the  iooi  of  the  waU, 


376  Burlesque 

Eight  on  to  the  horribly  hard  pavement  that  ran  beneath  it, 
Humpty-Dumpty,  the  unfortunate  Humpty-Dumpty, 
Fell. 

And  him,  alas !  no  equine  agency. 

Him  no  power  of  regal  battalions — 

Resourceful,  eager,  strenuous — 

Could  ever  restore  to  the  lofty  eminence 

Which  once  was  his. 

Still  he  lies  on  the  very  identical 

Spot  where  he  fell — lies,  as  I  said  on  the  ground, 

Shamefully  and  conspicuously  abased! 

Anthony  C.  Deane. 

THE  MIGHTY  MUST 

Come  mighty  Must! 

Inevitable  Shall! 
In  thee  I  trust. 

Time  weaves  my  coronal! 
Go  mocking  Is! 

Go  disappointing  Was! 
That  I  am  this 

Ye  are  the  cursed  cause! 
Yet  humble  second  shall  be  first, 

I  ween; 
And  dead  and  buried  be  the  curst 
Has  Been ! 

Oh  weak  Might  Be ! 

Oh,  May,  Might,  Could,  Would,  Should! 
How  powerless  ye 

For  evil  or  for  good!     ■ 
In  every  sense 

Your  moods  I  cheerless  call, 
Whatever  yoUr  tense 

Ye  are  imperfect,  all! 
Ye  have  deceived  the  trust  I've  shown 

In  ye! 
Away!    The  Mighty  Must  alone 
Shall  be  I 

•  W.  S.  Gilbert. 


Midsummer  Madness  377 

MIDSUMMER  MADNESS 

A  SOLILOQUY 

I  AM  a  hearthrug — 

Yes,  a  rug — 
Though  I  cannot  describe  myself  as  snug; 
Yet  I  know  that  for  me  they  paid  a  price 
For  a  Turkey  carpet  that  would  suffice 
(But  we  live  in  an  age  of  rascal  vice). 

Why  was  I  ever  woven, 
For  a  clumsy  lout,  with  a  wooden  leg. 
To  come  with  his  endless  Peg!  Peg! 
Peg!  Peg! 

With  a  wooden  leg, 
Till  countless  holes  I'm  drove  in. 
("Drove,"  I  have  said,  and  it  should  be  "driven"; 
A  hearthrug's  blunders  should  be  forgiven, 
For  wretched  scribblers  have  exercised 

Such  endless  bosh  and  clamour, 
So  improvidently  have  improvised, 
That  they've  utterly  ungrammaticised 

Our  ungrammatical  grammar). 

And  the  coals 

Burn  holes, 

Or  make  spots  like  moles. 
And  my  lily-white  tints,  as  black  as  your  hat  turn, 
And  the  housemaid  (a  matricide,  will-forging  slattern), 

Rolls 

The   rolls 

From  the  plate,  in  shoals. 
When  they're  put  to  warm  in  front  of  the  coals; 
And  no  one  with  me  condoles, 
For  the  butter  stains  on  my  beautiful  pattern. 
But  the  coals  and  rolls,  and  sometimes  soles, 
Dropp'd  from  the  frying-pan  out  of  the  fire. 
Are  nothing  to  raise  my  indignant  ire, 

Like  the  Peg!  Peg! 
Of  that  horrible  man  with  the  wooden  leg. 


378  Burlesque 


This  moral  spread  from  me. 

Sing  it,  ring  it,  yelp  it — 
Never  a  hearthrug  be, 

That  is  if  you  can  help  it. 

Unknown. 


MAVKONE 

ONE  OF  THOSE   SAD  IRISH   POEMS,   WITH   NOTES 

From  Arranmore  the  weary  miles  I've  come; 

An'  all  the  way  I've  heard 
A  Shrawn  ^  that's  kep'  me  silent,  speechless,  dumb, 

Not  sayin'  any  word. 
An'  was  it  then  the  Shrawn  of  Eire,^  you'll  say. 

For  him  that  died  the  death  on  Carrisbool? 
It  was  not  that;  nor  was  it,  by  the  way. 

The  Sons  of  Garnim  ^  blitherin'  their  drool ; 
Nor  was  it  any  Crowdie  of  the  Shee,* 

Or  Ttt,  or  Himm,  nor  wail  of  Barryhoo  ^ 
For  Barrywhich  that  stilled  the  tongue  of  me. 

*  A  Shrawn  is  a  pure  Gaelic  noise,  something  like  a  groan, 
more  like  a  shriek,  and  most  like  a  sigh  of  longing. 

*  Eire  was  daughter  of  Carne,  King  of  Connaught.  Her  lover, 
Murdh  of  the  Open  Hand,  was  captured  by  Greatcoat  Mackin- 
tosh, King  of  Ulster,  on  the  plain  of  Carrisbool.  and  made  into 
soup.    Eire's  grief  on  this  sad  occasion  has  become  proverbial. 

*  Garnim  was  second  cousin  to  Manannan  MacLir.  His  sons 
were  always  sad  about  something.  There  were  twenty-two  of 
them,  and  they  were  all  unfortunate  in  love  at  the  same  time,  just 
like  a  chorus  at  the  opera.  "  Blitherin'  their  drool "  is  about  the 
same  as  "  dreeing  their  weird." 

*  The  Shee  (or  "  Sidhe,"  as  I  should  properly  spell  it  if  you 
were  not  so  ignorant)  were,  as  everybody  knows,  the  regular, 
stand-pat,  organization  fairies  of  Erin.  The  Crowdie  was  their 
annual  convention,  at  which  they  made  melancholy  sounds.  The 
Itt  and  Himm  were  the  irregular,  or  insurgent,  fairies.  They 
never  got  any  offices  or  patronage.  See  MacAlester,  Polity  of 
the  Sidhe  of  West  Meath,  page  985-^ 

"  The  Barryhoo  is  an  ancient  Celtic  bird  about  the  size  of  a 
Mavis,  with  lavender  eyes  and  a  black-crape  tail.  It  continually 
mourns  its  mate  (Barrywhich,  feminine  form),  which  has  an 
hereditary  predisposition  to  an  early  and  tragic  demise  and 
invariably  dies  first. 


For  I  am  Sad  379 

Twas  but  my  own  heart  cryin'  out  for  you 
Magraw !  ®  Bulleen,  shinnanigan,  Boru, 
Aroon,  Machree,  Aboo !  ^ 

Arthur  Guiterman. 

•  Magraw,  a  Gaelic  term  of  endearment,  often  heard  on  the 
baseball  fields  of  Donnybrook. 

^  These  last  six  words  are  all  that  tradition  has  preserved  of 
the  original  incantation  by  means  of  which  Irish  rats  were  rhymed 
to  death.  Thereby  hangs  a  good  Celtic  tale,  which  I  should  be 
glad  to  tell  you  in  this  note;  but  the  publishers  say  that  being 
prosed  to  death  is  as  bad  as  being  rhymed  to  death,  and  that 
the  readers  won't  stand  for  any  more. 


LILIES 

Lilies,  lilies,  white  lilies  and  yellow — 

Lilies,  lilies,  purple  lilies  and  golden — 

Calla  lilies,  tiger  lilies,  lilies  of  the  valley — 

Lilies,  lilies,  lilies — 

Bulb,  bud  and  blossom — 

What  made  them  lilies? 

If  they  were  not  lilies  they  would  have  to  be  something  else, 

would  they  not? 
What  was  it  that  made  them  lilies  instead  of  making  them 

violets  or  roses  or  geraniums  or  petunias? 
What  was  it  that  made  you  yourself  and  me  myself?    What? 
Alas!    I  do  not  know! 

Don  Marquis. 


FOE  I  AM  SAD 

No  usual  words  can  bear  the  woe  I  feel, 

No  tralatitions  trite  give  me  relief! 

O  Webster !  lend  me  words  to  voice  my  grief 

Bitter  as  quassia,  quass  or  kumquat  peel ! 

For  I  am  sad  .    .    .  bound  on  the  cosmic  wheel, 

What  mad  chthonophagy  bids  slave  and  chief 

Through  endless  cycles  bite  the  earth  like  beef, 

By  turns  each  cannibal  and  each  the  meal? 

Turn  we  to  nature  Webster,  and  we  see 

Your  whidah  bird  refuse  all  strobile  fruit, 


380  Burle-sque 

Your  tragacanth  in  tears  ooze  from  the  tree  .    .    , 

We  hear  your  flammulated  owlets  hoot! 

Turn  we  to  nature,  Webster,  and  we  find 

Few  creatures  have  a  quite  contented  mind. 

Your  koulan  there,  with  dyslogistic  snort, 

Will  leave  his  phacoid  food  on  worts  to  browse, 

While  glactophorous  Himalayan  cows 

The  knurled  kohl-rabi  spurn  in  uncouth  sport; 

No  margay  climbs  margosa  trees;  the  short 

Gray  mullet  drink  no  mulse,  nor  house 

In  pibcorns  when  the  youth  of  Wales  carouse  .    .    . 

No  tournure  doth  the  toucan's  tail  contort  .    .    . 

So  I  am  sad !   .    .    .   and  yet,  on  Summer  eves, 

When  xebecs  search  the  whishing  scree  for  whelk, 

And  the  sharp  sorrel  lifts  obcordate  leaves. 

And  cryptogamous  plants  fulfil  the  elk, 

I  see  the  octopus  play  with  his  feet, 

And  find  within  this  sadness  something  sweet. 

The  thing  we  like  about  that  poem  is  its  recognition  of  all 
the  sorrow  there  is  in  the  universe  ...  its  unflinching  recogni- 
tion, we  might  say,  if  we  were  not  afraid  of  praising  our  own 
work  too  highly  .    .   .  combined  with  its  happy  ending. 

One  feels,  upon  reading  it,  that,  although  everything  every- 
where is  very  sad,  and  all  wrong,  one  has  only  to  have  patience 
and  after  a  while  everything  everywhere  will  be  quite  right  and 
very  sweet. 

No  matter  how  interested  one  may  be  in  these  literary  prob- 
lems, one  must  cease  discussing  them  at  times  or  one  will  be 
late  to  one's  meals. 

Don  Marquis. 


A  LITTLE  SWIRL  OF  VERS  LIBRE 

NOT  COVERED,  STRANGE  TO  SAY,  BY  THE  PENAL  CODE 

I  AM  numb  from  world-pain —  ■ 

I  sway  most  violently  as  the  thoughts  course  through  me. 

And  athwart  me. 

And  up  and  down  me — 

Thoughts  of  cosmic  matters, 

Of  the  mergings  of  worlds  within  worlds. 


Young  Lochinvar  381 

And  unutterabilities 

And  room-rent, 

And  other  tremendously  alarming  phenomena, 

Which  stab  me, 

Rip  me  most  outrageously; 

(Without  a  semblance,  mind  you,  of  respect  for  the  Hague 

Convention's  rules  governing  soul-slitting.) 
Aye,  as  with  the  poniard  of  the  Finite  pricking  the  rainbow- 
bubble  of  the  Infinite! 
(Some  figure,  that!) 
(Some  little  rush  of  syllables,  that!) — 
And   make   me — (are  you   still    whirling   at    my   coat-tails, 

reader?) 
Make  me — ahem,  where  was  I? — oh,  yes — make  me. 
In  a  sudden,  overwhelming  gust  of  soul-shattering  rebellion, 
Fall  flat  on  my  face! 

Thomas  R.  Yharra. 


YOUNG  LOCHINVAR 

THE  TRUE  STORY  IN  BLANK  VERSE 

Oh!  young  Lochinvar  has  come  out  of  the  West, 

Thro'  all  the  wide  border  his  horse  has  no  equal, 

Having  cost  him  forty-five  dollars  at  the  market. 

Where  good  nags,  fresh  from  the  country, 

With  burrs  still  in  their  tails  are  selling 

For  a  song;  and  save  his  good  broad  sword 

He  weapon  had  none,  except  a  seven-shooter 

Or  two,  a  pair  of  brass  knuckles,  and  an  Arkansaw 


Toothpick  in  his  boot,  so,  comparatively  speaking. 

He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone, 

Because  there  was  no  one  going  his  way. 

He  stayed  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for 

Toll-gates;  he  swam  the  Eske  River  where  ford 

There  was  none,  and  saved  fifteen  cents 

In  ferriage,  but  lost  his  pocket-book,  containing 

Seventeen  dollars  and  a  half^  by  the  operation. 


382  Burlesque 

-'^re  he  alighted  at  the  Netherby  mansion 
He  stopped  to  borrow  a  dry  suit  of  clothes, 
And  this  delayed  him  considerably,  so  when 
He  arrived  the  bride  had  tonsented/^the  gallant 
Came  late — for  a  laggard  in  love  and  a  dastard  in  war 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen,.4nd  the  guests  had  assembled. 


\  So,  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  Hall 
vAmong  bridesmen  and  kinsmen  and  brothers  and 
Brothers-in-law  and  forty  or  fifty  cousins; 
j  Then  spake  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 
L.(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  ne'er  opened  his  head) 


"  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  anger. 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar? " 
"  I  long  wooed  your  daughter,  and  she  will  tell  you 
I  have  the  inside  track  in  the  free-for-all 
For  her  affections!  my  suit  you  denied;  but  let 
That  pass,  while  I  tell  you,  old  ie^xm,  that  love 
Swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide, 
And  now  I  am  come  with  this  lost  love  of  mine 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  glass  of  beer; 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  yours  very  truly." 


The  bride  kissed  the  goblet,  the  knight  took  it  up, 

He  quaffed  off  the  nectar  and  threw  down  the  mug. 

Smashing  it  into  a  million  pieces,  while 

He  remarked  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  gun 

From  Seven-up  and  run  the  Number  Nine: 

She  looked  down  to  blush,  but  she  looked  up  again 

For  she  well  understood  the  wink  in  his  eye; 

He  took  her  soft  hand  ere  her  mother  could 

Interfere,  "Now  tread  we  a  measure;  first  four 

Half  right  and  left;  swing,"  cried  young  Lochinvar. 


Bygones  383 

One  touch  to  her  hand  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 

When  they  reached  the  hall  door  and  the  charger 

Stood  near  on  three  legs  eating  post  hay; 

So  light  to  the  croup  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 

Then  leaped  to  the  saddle  before  her. 

"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone !  over  bank,  bush,  and  spar, 

They'll  have  swift  steeds  that  follow  " — but  in  the 

Excitement  of  the  moment  he  had  forgotten 
To  untie  the  horse,  and  the  poor  brute  could 
Only  gallop  in  a  little  circus  around  the 
Hitching-post ;  so  the  old  gent  collared 
The  youth  and  gave  him  the  awfullest  lambasting 
That  was  ever  heard  of  on  Canobie  Lee; 
So  dauntless  in  war  and  so  daring  in  love. 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar?        ~> 

Unknown. 

Tab  '4:<^  ejCM^M^^  y^j^^ 

IMAGISTE  LOVE  LINES  |- 

I  LOVE  my  lady  with  a  deep  purple  love; 

She  fascinates  me  like  a  fly 

Struggling  in  a  pot  of  glue. 

Her  eyes  are  grey,  like  twin  ash-cans, 

Just  emptied,  about  which  still  hovers 

A  dainty  mist. 

Her  disposition  is  as  bright  as  a  ten-cent  shine, 

Yet  her  kisses  are  tender  and  goulashy. 

I  love  my  lady  with  a  deep  purple  love. 

Unknown, 


BYGONES 

Or  ever  a  lick  of  Art  was  done. 

Or  ever  a  one  to  care, 
I  was  a  Purple  Polygon, 

And  you  were  a  Sky-Blue  Square. 


384  Burlesque 

You  yearned  for  me  across  a  void, 
For  I  lay  in  a  different  plane, 

I'd  set  my  heart  on  a  Red  Rhomboid, 
And  your  sighing  was  in  vain. 


You  pined  for  me  as  well  I  knew, 

And  you  faded  day  by  day, 
Until  the  Square  that  was  heavenly  Blue, 

Had  paled  to  an  ashen  grey. 

A  myriad  years  or  less  or  more, 

Have  softly  fluttered  by. 
Matters  are  much  as  they  were  before, 

Except  'tis  I  that  sigh. 

I  yearn  for  you,  but  I  have  no  chance, 

You  lie  in  a  different  plane, 
I  break  my  heart  for  a  single  glance. 

And  I  break  said  heart  in  vain. 


And  ever  I  grow  more  pale  and  wan. 

And  taste  your  old  despair. 
When  I  was  a  Purple  Polygon, 

And  you  were  a  Sky-Blue  Square. 

Bert  Leston  Taylor. 


JUSTICE  TO  SCOTLAND 

AN  UNPUBLISHED  POEM   BY   BURNS 

O  MiCKLE  yeuks  the  keckle  doup, 

An'  a'  unsicker  girns  the  graith. 
For  wae  and  wae !  the  crowdies  loup 

O'er  jouk  an'  hallan,  braw  an'  baith 
Where  ance  the  coggie  hirpled  fair, 

And  blithesome  poortith  toomed  the  loof, 
There's  nae  a  bumie  giglet  rare 

But  blaws  in  ilka  jinking  coof. 


Lament  of  the  Scotch-Irish  Exile  385 

The  routhie  bield  that  gars  the  gear 

Is  gone  where  glint  the  pawky  een. 
And  aye  the  stound  is  birkin  lear 

Where  sconnered  yowies  wheeped  yestreen, 
The  creeshie  rax  wi'  skelpin'  kaes 

Nae  mair  the  howdie  bicker  whangs, 
Nor  weanies  in  their  wee  bit  claes 

Glour  light  as  lammies  wi'  their  sangs. 


Yet  leeze  me  on  my  bonny  byke! 

My  drappie  aiblins  blinks  the  noo, 
An'  leesome  luve  has  lapt  the  dyke 

Forgatherin'  just  a  wee  bit  fou. 
And  Scotia!  while  thy  rantin'  lunt 

Is  mirk  and  moop  with  gowans  fine, 
I'll  stowlins  pit  my  unco  brunt, 

An'  cleek  my  duds  for  auld  lang  syne. 

Unknown. 


LAMENT  OF  THE  SCOTCH-IKISH  EXILE 

Oh,  I  want  to  win  me  hame 

To  my  ain  countrie, 
The  land  frae  whence  I  came 

Far  away  across  the  sea; 
Bit  I  canna  find  it  there,  on  the  atlas  anywhere, 
And  I  greet  and  wonder  sair 

Where  the  deil  it  can  be? 


I  hae  never  met  a  man, 

In  a'  the  warld  wide. 
Who  has  trod  my  native  Ian' 

Or  its  distant  shores  espied; 
But  they  tell  me  there's  a  place  where  my  hypothetic  race 
Its  dim  origin  can  trace — 

Tipperary-on-the-Clyde. 


386  Burlesque 

But  anither  answers :  "  Nae, 

Ye  are  varra  far  frae  richt; 
Glasgow  town  in  Dublin  Bay 

Is  the  spot  we  saw  the  licht." 
But  I  dinna  find  the  maps  bearing  out  these  pawkie  chaps, 
And  I  sometimes  think  perhaps 

It  has  vanished  out  o'  sight. 

Oh,  I  fain  wad  win  me  hame 

To  that  undiscovered  Ian' 
That  has  neither  place  nor  name 

Where  the  Scoto-Irishman 
May  behold  the  castles  fair  by  his  fathers  builded  there 
Many,  many  ages  ere 

Ancient  history  began. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche. 


A  SONG  OF  SOKROW  ^ 

A  LULLABYLET  FOR  A  MAGAZINELET 

Wan  from  the  wild  and  woful  West — 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on ! 
Mother  will  sing  to — you  know  the  rest — 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on ! 
Softly  the  sand  steals  slowly  by, 
Cursed  be  the  curlew's  chittering  cry; 
By-a-by,  oh,  by-a-by! 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on ! 

Rosy  and  sweet  come  the  hush  of  night — 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on ! 
(Twig  to  the  lilt,  I  have  got  it  all  right) 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on! 
Dark  are  the  dark  and  darkling  days 
Winding  the  webbed  and  winsome  ways. 
Homeward  she  creeps  in  dim  amaze — 

Sleep,  little  babe,  sleep  on ! 
(But  it  waked  up,  drat  it!) 

Charles  Battell  Loomis. 


I 


The  Rejected  "  National  Hymns  ''  387 

THE  REJECTED  "  NATIONAL  HYMNS  " 


BY  H Y   W.   L-NGF W 

Back  in  the  years  when  Phlagstaff,  the  Dane,  was  monarch 
Over  the  sea-ribb'd  land  of  the  fleet-footed  Norsemen, 

Once  there  went  forth  young  Ursa  to  gaze  at  the  heavens — 
Ursa — the  noblest  of  all  the  Vikings  and  horsemen. 

Musing,  he  sat  in  his  stirrups  and  viewed  the  horizon, 
Where  the  Aurora  lapt  stars  in  a  North-polar  manner. 

Wildly  he  started, — for  there  in  the  heavens  before  him 
Flutter'd  and  flam'd  the  original  Star  Spangled  Banner. 


BY  J  -  HN  GR  -  -  NL  -  -  F  WH  -  -  T  -  -  R 

My  Native  Land,  thy  Puritanic  stock 

Still  finds  its  roots  firm-bound  in  Plymouth  Rock, 

And  all  thy  sons  unite  in  one  grand  wish — 

To  keep  the  virtues  of  Preserved  Fish. 

Preserved  Fish,  the  Deacon  stern  and  true, 
Told  our  New  England  what  her  sons  should  do. 
And  if  they  swerve  from  loyalty  and  right, 
Then  the  whole  land  is  lost  indeed  in  night. 


m 

BY    DR.    OL  -  V  -  R    W  -  ND  -  L    H  -  LMES 

A  DIAGNOSIS  of  our  hist'ry  proves 

Our  native  land  a  land  its  native  loves; 

Its  birth  a  deed  obstetric  without  peer. 

Its  growth  a  source  of  wonder  far  and  near. 

To  love  it  more  behold  how  foreign  shores 
Sink  into  nothingness  beside  its  stores; 
Hyde  Park  at  best — though  counted  ultra-grand — 
The  "  Boston  Common  "  of  Victoria's  land. 


388  Burlesque 

IV 
BY    R  -  LPH    W  -  LDO    EM  -  R  -  -  N 

Source  immaterial  of  material  naught, 

Focus  of  light  infinitesimal, 
Sum  of  all  things  by  sleepless  Nature  wrought. 

Of  which  the  normal  man  is  decimal. 


Kefract,  in  prism  immortal,  from  thy  stars 
To  the  stars  bent  incipient  on  our  flag. 

The  beam  translucent,  neutrifying  death, 
And  raise  to  immortality  the  rag. 


V 

BY    W  -  LL  -  -  M    C  -  LL  -  N    B  -  Y  -  NT 

The  sun  sinks  softly  to  his  Ev'ning  Post, 

The  sun  swells  grandly  to  his  morning  crown; 

Yet  not  a  star  our  Flag  of  Heav'n  has  lost. 
And  not  a  sunset  stripe  with  him  goes  down. 

So  thrones  may  fall,  and  from  the  dust  of  those 
New  thrones  may  rise,  to  totter  like  the  last; 

But  still  our  Country's  nobler  planet  glows 
While  the  eternal  stars  of  Heaven  are  fast. 


VI 
BY   N.   p.   w  -  LL  -  IS 
One  hue  of  our  Flag  is  taken 

From  the  cheeks  of  my  blushing  Pet, 
And  its  stars  beat  time  and  sparkle 
Like  the  studs  on  her  chemisette. 


Its  blue  is  the  ocean  shadow 
That  hides  in  her  dreamy  eyes, 

It  conquers  all  men,  like  her, 
And  still  for  a  Union  flie^. 


The  Editor's  Wooing  389 

vn 

BY   TH  -  M  -  S   B  -  IL  -  Y  ALD  -  -  CH 

The  little  brown  squirred  hops  in  the  corn, 

The  cricket  quaintly  sings, 
The  emerald  pigeon  nods  his  head, 

And  the  shad  in  the  river  springs, 
The  dainty  sunflow'r  hangs  its  head 

On  the  shore  of  the  summer  sea; 
And  better  far  that  I  were  dead. 

If  Maud  did  not  love  me. 


I  love  the  squirrel  that  hops  in  the  com. 

And  the  cricket  that  quaintly  sings; 
And  the  emerald  pigeon  that  nods  his  head. 

And  the  shad  that  gaily  springs. 
I  love  the  dainty  sunflow'r,  too, 

And  Maud  with  her  snowy  breast; 
I  love  them  all ; — but  I  love — I  love — 

I  love  my  country  best. 

Robert  H.   Newell 


THE  EDTTOK'S  WOOING 

We  love  thee,  Ann  Maria  Smith, 
And  in  thy  condescension 

We  see  a  future  full  of  joys 
Too  numerous  to  mention. 


There's  Cupid's  arrow  in  thy  glance. 

That  by  thy  love's  coercion 
Has  reached  our  melting  heart  of  hearts. 

And  asked  for  one  insertion. 


With  joy  we  feel  the  blissful  smart; 

And  ere  our  passion  ranges, 
We  freely  place  thy  love  upon 

The  list  of  our  exchanges. 


390  Burlesque 

There's  music  in  thy  lowest  tone, 

And  silver  in  thy  laughter: 
And  truth — but  we  will  give  the  full 

Particulars  hereafter. 

Oh,  we  could  tell  thee  of  our  plans 

All  obstacles  to  scatter; 
But  we  are  full  just  now,  and  have 

A  press  of  other  matter. 

Then  let  us  marry,  Queen  of  Smiths, 

Without  more  hesitation: 
The  very  thought  doth  give  our  blood 

A  larger  circulation. 

Robert  H.  Newell 


THE  BABY'S  DEBUT  ^ 

A    BURLESQUE     IMITATION     OF     WORDSWORTH — REJECTED 
ADDRESSES 

[Spoken  in  the  character  of  Nancy  Lake,  a  girl  eight  years  of 
age,  who  is  drawn  upon  the  stage  in  a  child's  chaise  by  Samuel 
Hughes,  her  uncle's  porter.] 

My  brother  Jack  was  nine  in  May, 
And  I  was  eight  on  New-year's-day; 

So  in  Kate  Wilson's  shop 
Papa  (he's  my  papa  and  Jack's) 
Bought  me,  last  week,  a  doll  of  wax, 

And  brother  Jack  a  top. 
Jack's  in  the  pouts,  and  this  it  is — 
He  thinks  mine  came  to  more  than  his ; 

'  "  The  author  does  not,  in  this  instance,  attempt  to  copy  any 
of  the  higher  attributes  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  poetry ;  but  has 
succeeded  perfectly  in  the  imitation  of  his  mawkish  affectations 
of  childish  simplicity  and  nursery  stammering.  We  hope  it  will 
make  him  ashamed  of  his  Alic€  Fell,  and  the  greater  part  of  his 
last  volumes — of  which  it  is  by  no  means  a  parody,  but  a  very 
fair,  and  indeed  we  think  a  flattering,  imitation." — Edinbiirg 
Review. 


The  Baby's  Debut  391 

So  to  my  drawer  he  goes, 
Takes  out  the  doll,  and,  O,  my  stars! 
He  pokes  her  head  between  the  bars, 

And  melts  off  half  her  nose ! 


Quite  cross,  a  bit  of  string  I  beg. 
And  tie  it  to  his  peg-top's  peg, 

And  bang,  with  might  and  main, 
Its  head  against  the  parlor-door: 
Off  flies  the  head,  and  hits  the  floor. 

And  breaks  a  window-pane. 

This  made  him  cry  with  rage  and  spite : 
Well,  let  him  cry,  it  serves  him  right. 

A  pretty  thing,  forsooth! 
If  he's  to  melt,  all  scalding  hot, 
Half  my  doll's  nose,  and  I  am  not 

To  draw  his  peg-top's  tooth! 

Aunt  Hannah  heard  the  window  break, 
And  cried,  "  O  naughty  Nancy  Lake, 

Thus  to  distress  your  aunt : 
No  Drury  Lane  for  you  to-day  1  " 
And  while  papa  said,  "  Pooh,  she  may !  " 

Mamma  said,  "  No,  she  sha'n't !  " 

Well,  after  many  a  sad  reproach. 
They  got  into  a  hackney-coach. 

And  trotted  down  the  street. 
I  saw  them  go :  one  horse  was  blind. 
The  tails  of  both  hung  down  behind. 

Their  shoes  were  on  their  feet. 

The  chaise  in  which  poor  brother  Bill 
Used  to  be  drawn  to  Pentonville, 

Stood  in  the  lumber-room: 
I  wiped  the  dust  from  off  the  top. 
While  Molly  mopped  it  with  a  mop, 

And  brushed  it  with  a  broom. 


392  Burlesque 

My  uncle's  porter,  Samuel  Hughes, 
Came  in  at  six  to  black  the  shoes, 

(1  always  talk  to  Sam:) 
So  what  does  he,  but  takes,  and  drags 
Me  in  the  chaise  along  the  flags, 

And  leaves  me  where  I  am. 

My  father's  walls  are  made  of  brick. 
But  not  so  tall  and  not  so  thick 

As  these;  and,  goodness  me! 
My  father's  beams  are  made  of  wood. 
But  never,  never  half  so  good 

As  those  that  now  I  see. 

What  a  large  floor !  'tis  like  a  town ! 
The  carpet,  when  they  lay  it  down, 

Won't  hide  it,  I'll  be  bound ; 
And  there's  a  row  of  lamps! — my  eye  I 
How  they  do  blaze!     I  wonder  why 

They  keep  them  on  the  ground. 

At  first  I  caught  hold  of  the  wing. 
And  kept  away;  but  Mr.  Thing- 
umbob, the  prompter  man. 
Gave  with  his  hand  my  chaise  a  shove. 
And  said,  "  Go  on,  my  pretty  love ; 
Speak  to  'em  little  Nan. 

"You've  only  got  to  curtsy,  whisp- 
er, hold  your  chin  up,  laugh  and  lisp, 

And  then  you're  sure  to  take: 
I've  known  the  day  when  brats,  not  quite 
Thirteen,  got  fifty  pounds  a  night; 

Then  why  not  Nancy  Lake  ? " 

But  while  I'm  speaking,  where's  papa? 
And  where's  my  aunt?  and  where's  mamma? 

Where's  Jack  ?    O  there  they  sit ! 
They  smile,  they  nod;  I'll  go  my  ways, 
And  order  round  poor  Billy's  chaise, 

To  join  them  in  the  pit. 


The  Cantelope  393 

And  now,  good  gentlefolks,  I  go 
To  join  mamma,  and  see  the  show; 

So,  bidding  you  adieu, 
I  curtsy  like  a  pretty  miss. 
And  if  you'll  blow  to  me  a  kiss, 
I'll  blow  a  kiss  to  you. 

[Blows  a  kiss,  and  exit.] 

James  Smith. 


THE  CANTELOPE 

Side  by  side  in  the  crowded  streets, 

Amid  its  ebb  and  flow, 
We  walked  together  one  autumn  mom; 

('Twas  many  years  ago!) 

The  markets  blushed  with  fruits  and  flowers; 

(Both  Memory  and  Hope!) 
You  stopped  and  bought  me  at  the  stall, 

A  spicy  cantelope. 

We  drained  together  its  honeyed  wine. 

We  cast  the  seeds  away; 
I  slipped  and  fell  on  the  moony  rinds. 

And  you  took  me  home  on  a  dray ! 

The  honeyed  wine  of  your  love  is  drained; 

I  limp  from  the  fall  I  had; 
The  snow-flakes  muffle  the  empty  stall. 

And  everything  is  sad. 

The  sky  is  an  inkstand,  upside  down. 

It  splashes  the  world  with  gloom; 
The  earth  is  full  of  skeleton  bones. 

And  the  sea  is  a  wobbling  tomb ! 

Bayard  Taylor. 


394  Burlesque 

POPULAR  BALLAD:  "NEVER  FORGET  YOUR 
PARENTS " 

A  YOUNG  man  once  was  sitting 

Within  a  swell  cafe, 
The  music  it  was  playing  sweet — 

The  people  was  quite)  gay. 
But  he  alone  was  silent, 

A  tear  was  in  his  eye — 
A  waitress  she  stepped  up  to  him,  and 

Asked  him  gently  why. 

(Change  to  Minor) 

He  turned  to  her  in   sorrow  and 

At  first  he  spoke  no  word, 
But  soon  he  spoke  unto  her,  for 

She  was  an  honest  girl. 
He  rose  up  from  the  table 

In   that  elegant  cafe, 
And  in  a  voice  replete  with  tears 

To  her  he  then  did  say: 

CHORUS 

Never  forget  your  father, 

Think  all  he  done  for  you; 
A  mother  is  a  boy's  best  friend. 

So  loving,  kind,  and  true, 
If  it  were  not  for  them,  I'm(  sure 

I  might  be  quite  forlorn; 
And  if  your  parents  had  not  have  lived 

You  would  not  have  been  born. 

A  hush  fell  on  the  laughing  throng, 

It  made  them  feel  quite  bad. 
For  most  of  them  was  people,  and 

Some   parents   they   had   had. 
Both  men  and  ladiesi  did  shed  tears. 

The  music  it  did  cease, 
For  all  knew  he  had  spoke  the  truth 

By  looking  at  his  face. 


A  Girl  was  too  Reckless  of  Grammar        395 

(Change  to  Minor) 
The   waitress   she  wept  bitterly 

And  others  was  in  tears 
It  made  them  think  of  the  old  home 

They  had  not  saw  in  years. 
And  while  their  hearts  was  heavy  and 

Their  eyes  they  was  quite  red. 
This  brave  and  honest  boy  again 

To  them  these  words  he  said: 

CHORUS 

Never  forget  your  father, 

Think  all  he  done  for  you; 
A  mother  is  a  boy's  best  friend, 

So  loving,  kind,  and  true. 
If  it  were  not  for  them^,  I'm  sure 

I  might  be  quite  forlorn; 
And  if  your  parents  had  not  have  lived 

You  would  not  have  been  born. 

Franklin  P.  Adams. 


HOW  A  GIRL  WAS  TOO  RECKLESS  OF  GRAMMAR 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  frankly  hadn't  any  chin, 
Her  hands  were  rough,  her  feet  she  turned  invariably  in; 
Her  general  form  was,  German, 

By  which  I  mean  that  you 
Her  waist  could  not  determine 
Within  a  foot  or  two. 
And  not  only  did  she  stammer. 
But  she  used  the  kind  of  grammar 

That  is  called,  for  sake  of  euphony,  askew. 

From  what  I  say  about  her,  don't  imagine  I  desire 
A  prejudice  against  this  worthy  creature  to  inspire. 
She  was  willing,  she  was  active, 

She  was  sober,  she  was  kind, 
But  she  never  looked  attractive 
And  she  hadn't  any  mind. 


396  Burlesque 

I  knew  her  more  than  slightly, 
And  I  treated  her  politely 
When  I  met  her,  but  of  course  I  wasn't  blind! 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  had  a  habit  that  was  droll, 
She  spent  her  morning  seated  on  a  rock  or  on  a  knoll, 
And  threw  with  much  composure 

A  smallish  rubber  ball 

At  an  inoffensive  osier 

By  a  little  waterfall; 

But  Matilda's  way  of  throwing 

Was  like  other  people's  mowing, 

And  she  nevei)  hit  the  willow-tree  at  all ! 

One  day  as  Miss  Mackenzie  with  uncommon  ardour  tried 
To  hit  the  mark,  the  missile  flew  exceptionally  wide. 
And,   before   her   eyes    astounded. 

On  a  fallen  maple's  trunk 
Eicochetted   and   rebounded 
In  the  rivulet,  and  sunk! 
Matilda,  greatly  frightened, 
In   her  grammar  unenlightened, 
Remarked,  "Well  now  I  ast  yer,  who'd  'er  thunk?" 

But  what  a  marvel  followed!     From  the  pool  at  once  there 

rose 
A  frog,  the  sphere  of  rubber  balanced  deftly  on  his  nose. 
He  beheld  her  fright  and  frenzy 

And,  her  panic  to  dispel. 
On  his  knee  by  Miss  Mackenzie 
He  obsequiously  fell. 
With  quite  as  much  decorum 
As  a  speaker  in  a  forum 

He  started  in  his  history  to  tell. 

"  Fair  maid,"  he  said,  "  I  beg  you  do  not  hesitate  or  wince, 

If  you'll  promise  that  you'll  wed  me,  I'll  at  once  become 

a  prince; 

For  a  fairy,  old  and  vicious. 

An  enchantment  round  me  spun ! " 
Then  he  looked  up,  unsuspicious. 
And  ha  saw  what  he  had  won, 


Behold  the  Deeds!  397 

And  in  terms  of  sad  reproach,  he 
Made  some  comments,  sotto  voce, 

(Which  the  publishers  have  bidden  me  to  shun!) 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  said,  as  if  she  meant  to  scold; 
"I  never!    Why,  you  forward  thing!    Now,  ain't  you  awful 
bold!" 
Just  a  glance  he  paused  to  give  her, 

And  his  head  was  seen  to  clutch. 
Then  he  darted  to  the  river, 

And  he  dived  to  beat  the  Dutch! 
While  the  wrathful  maiden  panted 
'*  I  don't  think  he  was  enchanted !  "  , 

(And  he  really  didn't  look  it  overmuch!) 

THE   MORAL 

In  one's  language  one  conservative  should  be; 
Speech  is  silver  and  it  never  should  be  free! 

Guy  Wetmore  Carry  I. 


BEHOLD   THE   DEEDS! 

CHANT    ROYAL 

(Being  the  Plaint  of  Adolphe  Culpepper  Ferguson,  Salesman 
of  Fancy  Notions,  held  in  durance  of  his  Landlady  for  a  failure 
to  connect  on  Saturday  night.) 

I 

I  WOULD  that  all  men  my  hard  case  might  know; 

How  grievously   I  suffer  for  no  sin : 
I,  Adolphe  Culpepper  Ferguson,  for  lo! 

T,  of  my  landlady  am  locked  in. 
For  being  short  on  this  sad  Saturday, 
Nor  having  shekels  of  silver  wherewith  to  pay, 
She  has  turned  and  is  departed  with  my  key; 
Wherefore,  not  even  as  other  boarders  free, 

I  sing  (as  prisoners  to  their  dungeon  stones 
When  for  ten  days  they  expiate  a  spree)  : 

Behold  the  deeds  that  are  done  of  Mrs.  Jones! 


398  Burlesque 

n 

One  night  and  one  day  have  I  wept  my  woe; 

Nor  wot  I  when  the  morrow  doth  begin, 
If  I  shall  have  to  write  to  Briggs  &  Co., 

To  pray  them  to  advance  the  requisite  tin 
For  ransom  of  their  salesman,  that  he  may 
Go  forth  as  other  boarders  go  alway — 
As  those  I  hear  now  flocking  from  their  tea, 
Led  by  the  daughter  of  my  landlady 

Pianoward.     This  day  for  all  my  moans, 
Dry  bread  and  water  have  been  served  me. 

Behold  the  deeds  thati  are  done  of  Mrs.  Jones! 


Ill 
Miss  Amabel  Jones  is  musical,  and  so 

The   heart   of   the  young  he-boarder   doth   win, 
Playing  "  The  Maiden's  Prayer,"  adagio — 

That  fetcheth  him,  as  fetcheth  the  banco  skin 
The  innocent  rustic.     For  my  part,   I  pray: 
That   Badarjewska   maid    may   wait   for   aye 
Ere  sits  she  with  a  lover,  as  did  we 
Once  sit  together,  Amabel!     Can  it  be 

That  all  of  that  arduous  wooing  not  atones 
For  Saturday  shortness  of  trade  dollars  three? 

Behold  the  deeds  that  are  done  of  Mrs.  Jones! 


rv 

Yea!  she  forgets  the  arm  was  wont  to  go 

Around  her  waist.     She  wears  a  buckle  whose  pin 
Galleth  the  crook   of  the  young  man's  elbow; 

I  forget  not,  for  I  that  youth  have  been. 
Smith  was   aforetime   the   Lothario   gay. 
Yet   once,  I  mind  me,   Smith  was  forced  to  stay 
Close  in  his  room.     Not  calm,  as  T,  was  he; 
But  his  noise  brought  no  pleasaunce,  verily. 

Small  ease  he  gat  of  playing  on  the  bones. 
Or  hammering  on  his  stove-pipe,  that  I  see. 

Behold   the   deeds   that  are   done   of   Mr^.   Jones! 


Villon's  Straight  Tip  to  all  Cross  Coves      399 


Thou,  for  whose  fear  the  figurative  crow 

I  eat,  accursed  be  thou  and  all!  thy  kin! 
Thee  will  I  show  up — yea,  up  will  I  show 

Thy  too  thick  buckwheats,  and  thy  tea  too  thin. 
Ay!  here  I  dare  thee,  ready  for  the  fray! 
Thou  dost  not  keep  a  first-class  house,  I  say! 
It  does  not  with  the  advertisements  agree. 
Thou  lodgest  a  Briton  with  a  pugaree. 

And  thou  hast  harbored  Jacobses  and  Cohns, 
Also  a  Mulligan.     Thus  denounce  I  thee! 

Behold  the  deeds  that  are  done  of  Mrs.  Jones  I 


ENVOY 

Boarders!  the  worst  I  have  not  told  to  ye: 
She  hath  stole  my  trousers,  that  T  may  not  flee 

Privily  by  the  window.     Hence  these  groans, 
There  is  no  fleeing  in  a  rohe  de  nuit. 

Behold  the  deeds  that  are  done  of  Mrs.  Jones! 

H.  C.  Bunner. 


VILLON'S  STRAIGHT  TIP  TO  ALL  CROSS  COVES 

"  Tout  aux  tavernes  et  aux  Hells " 

Suppose  you  screeve?  or  go  cheap-jack? 

Or  fake  the  broads?  or  fig  a  nag? 
Or  thimble-rig?  or  knap  a  yack? 

Or  pitch  a  snide?   or  smash   a   rag? 

Suppose  you  duff?  or  nose  and  lag? 
Or  get  the  straight,  and  land  your  pot? 

How  do  you  melt  the  multy  swag? 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 


Fiddle,  or  fence,  or  mace,  or  mack; 

Or  moskeneer,   or  flash   the   drag; 
Dead-lurk  a  crib,  or  do  a  crack; 

Pad  with  a  slang,  or  chuck  a  fag; 


400  Burlesque 

Bonnet,  or  tout,  or  mump  and  gag; 
Rattle  the  tats,  or  mark  the  spot; 

You  cannot  bag  a  single  stag; 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 


Suppose  you  try  a  different  tack, 

And  on  the  square  you  flash  your  flag? 
At  penny-a-lining  make  your  whack, 

Or  with  the  mummers  mug  and  gag? 

For  nix,  for  nix  the  dibbs  you  bag! 
At  any  graft,  no  matter  what, 

Your  merry  goblins  soon  stravag: 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 


THE     MORAL 

It's  up  the  spout  and  Charley  Wag 
With   wipes  and   tickers  and   what  not 

Until  the  squeezer  nips  your  scrag. 
Booze  and  the  blowens  cop  the  lot. 

William  Ernest  Henley. 


CULTURE   IN   THE   SLUMS 
Inscribed  to  an  Intense  Poet 

RONDEAU 

*'  O  CRIKEY,  Bill ! "  she  ses  to  me,  she  ses. 

**  Look  sharp,"  ses  she,  "  with  them  there  sossiges. 
Yea!  sharp  with  them  there  bags  of  mysteree! 
For  lo!"  she  ses,  "for  lo!  old  pal,"  ses  she, 

"  I'm  blooming  peckish,  neither  more  nor  less." 

Was  it  not  prime — I  leave  you  all  to  guess 
How  prime! — to  have  a   Jude   in   love's  distress 

Come  spooning  round,  and  murmuring  balmilee, 

"O  crikey,  Bill! 


Culture  in  the  Slums  401 

For  in  such  rorty  wise  doth  Love  express 

His  blooming  views,  and  asks  for  your  address, 

And  makes  it  right,  and  does  the  gay  and  free. 

I  kissed  her — I  did  so!     And  her  and  me 
Was  pals.    And  if  that  ain't  good  business, 

"O  crikey,  Bill!" 


II.    VILLANELLE 

Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too 

(She  ses,  my  Missus  mine,  ses  she), 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue. 

Joe,  just  you  kool  'em — nice  and  skew 

Upon  our  old  meogginee. 
Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too? 

They're  better  than  a  pot'n'  a  screw. 
They're  equal  to  a  Sunday  spree. 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue! 

Suppose  I  put  'em  up  the  flue. 

And  booze  the  profits,  Joe?    Not  me. 
Now  ain't  they   utterly  too-too? 

I  do  the  'Igh  Art  fake,  I  do. 

Joe,  I'm  consummate;  and  I  see 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue. 

Which  Joe,  is  why  I  ses  ter  you — 

Esthetic-like,   and   limp,   and   free — 
Now  ain't  they  utterly  too-too. 
Them  flymy  little  bits  of  Blue? 


in.    BALLADE 

I  often  does  a  quiet   read 
At  Booty  Shelly's  poetry; 

I  thinks  that  Swinburne  at  a  screed 
Is  really  almost  too  too  fly; 


402  Burlesque 

At   Signor  Vagna's   harmony 
I  likes  a  merry  little  flutter; 

I've  had  at  Pater  many  a  shy; 
In  fact,  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

My  mark's  a  tidy  little  feed, 

And  'Enery  Irving's  gallery, 
To  see  old  'Amlick  do  a  bleed, 

And  tellen  Terry  on  the  die, 

Or   Frankey's  ghostes   at  hi-spy, 
And  parties  carried  on   a  shutter. 

Them  vulgar  Coupeaus  is  my  eye! 
In  fact  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

The   Grosvenor's   nuts — it   is,   indeed! 

I  goes  for  'Olman  'Unt  like  pie. 
It's   equal   to   a  friendly  lead 

To  see  B.  Jones'^  judes  go  by. 

Stanhope  he  make  me  fit  to  cry. 
Whistler  he  makes  me  melt  like  butter. 

Strudwick  he  makes  me  flash  my  cly — 
In  fact,  my  form's  the  Bloomin'  Utter. 

ENVOY 

I'm  on  for  any  Art  that's  'Igh; 
I  talks  as  quiet  as  I  can  splutter; 

I  keeps  a  Dado  on  the  sly; 
In  fact,   my   form's   the  Bloomin'   Utter. 

William  Ernest  Henley. 


THE  LAWYER'S  INVOCATION  TO  SPRING 

Whereas,  on  certain  boughs  and  sprays 
Now  divers  birds  are  heard  to  sing, 

And  sundry  flowers  their  heads  upraise. 
Hail  to  the  coming  on  of  Spring! 

The  songs   of   those   said   birds   arouse 
The  memory   of   our  youthful   hours. 


North,  East,  South,  and  West  403 

As  green  as  those  said  sprays  and  boughs, 
As  fresh  and  sweet  as  those  said  flowers. 


The  birds  aforesaid — happy  pairs — 

Love,  'mid  the  aforesaid  boughs,  inshrines 

In   freehold   nests;   themselves  their  heirs, 
Administrators,   and   assigns. 

O  busiest  term   of  Cupid's  Court, 

Where  tender  plaintiffs  actions  bring, — 

Season   of  frolic   and   of   sport, 
Hail,   as   aforesaid,   coming   Spring! 

Henry  Howard  Brownell. 


NORTH,  EAST,  SOUTH,  AND  WEST 

AFTER  R.  K. 

Oh!  I  have  been  North,  and  I  have  been  South,  and  the 
East  hath  seen  me  pass. 

And  the  West  hath  cradled  me  on  her  breast,  that  is  cir- 
cled round  with  brass, 

And  the  world  hath  laugh'd  at  me,  and  I  have  laugh'd  at 
the  world  alone. 

With  a  loud  hee-haw  till  my  hard-work'd  jaw  is  stiff  as  a 
dead  man's  bone! 

Oh!  I  have  been  up  and  I  have  been  down  and  over  the 
sounding  sea. 

And  the  sea-birds  cried  as  they  dropp'd  and  died  at  the  ter- 
rible sight  of  me, 

For  my  head  was  bound  with  a  star,  and  crown'd  with  the 
fire  of   utmost  hell. 

And  I  made  this  song  with  a  brazen  tongue  and  a  more 
than  fiendish  yell: 

"  Oh !   curse  you  all,  for  the  sake  of  men  who  have  liv'd 

and  died  for  spite, 
And   be   doubly  curst   for   the   dark  ye   make   where   there 

ought  to  be  but  light. 


404  Burlesque 

And  be  trebly  curst  by  the  deadly  spell  of  a  woman's  last- 
ing hate, — 

And  drop  ye  down  to  the  mouth  of  hell  who  would  climb 
to  the  Golden  Gate!" 

Then  the  world  grew  greei^  and  grim  and  grey  at  the  hor- 
rible noise  I  made, 

And  held  up  its  hands  in  a  pious  way  when  I  call'd  a  spade 
a  spade; 

But  I  cared  no\  whit  for  the  blame  of  it,  and  nothing  at 
all  for  its  praise, 

And  the  whole  consign'd  with  a  tranquil  mind  to  a  sempi- 
ternal blaze! 

All  this  have  I  sped,  and  have  brought  me  back  to  work 

at  the  set  of  sun. 
And  I  set  my  seal  to  the  thoughts  I  feel  in  the  twilight 

one  by  one, 
For  I  speak  but  sooth  in  the)  name  of  Truth  when  I  write 

such  things  as  these; 

And  the  whole  I  send  to  a  critical  friend  who  is  learned  in 
Kiplingese ! 

Unknozmi. 


MARTIN  LUTHER  AT  POTSDAM 

What  lightning  shall  light  it?     What  thunder  shall  tell  it? 

In  the  height  of  the  height,  in  the  depth  of  the  deep? 
Shall  the  sea-storm  declare  it,  or  paint  it,  or  smell  it? 

Shall  the  price  of  a  slave  be  its  treasure  to  keep? 
When    the   night   has   grown   near   with   the   gems    on   her 
bosom, 

When  the  white  of  mine  eyes  is  the  whiteness  of  snow, 
When  the  cabman — in  liquor — drives  a  blue  roan,  a  kicker, 

Into  the  land  of  the  dear  long  ago. 

Ah! — Ah,  again! — You  will  come  to  me,  fall  on  me — 

You  are  so  heavy,  and  I  am  so  flat. 
And  I?     I  shall  not  be  at  home  when  you  call  on  me, 

But  stray  down  the  wind  like  a  gentleman's  hat: 


Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam  405 

I  shall  list  to  the  stars  when  the  music  is  purrple, 
Be  drawn  through  a  pipe,   and  exhaled  into  rings; 

Turn  to  sparks,  and  then  straightway  get  stuck  in  the  gate- 
way 
That  stands  between  speech  and  unspeakable  things. 


As  I  mentioned  before,  by  what  light  is  it  lighted? 

Oh!  Is  it  fourpence,  or  piebald,  or  gray? 
Is  it  a  mayor  thaU  a  mother  has  knighted 

Or  is  it  a  horse  of  the  sun  and  the  day? 
Is  it  a  pony?    If  so,  who  will  change  it? 

O  golfer,  be  quiet,  and  mark  where  it  scuds, 
And  think  of  its  paces — of  owners  and  races — 

Kelinquish  the  links  for  the  study  of  studs. 


Not  understood?     Take  me  hence!     Take  me  yonder! 

Take  me  away  to  the  land  of  my  rest — 
There  where  the  Ganges  and  other  gees  wander, 

And  uncles  and  antelopes  act  for  the  best, 
And  all  things  are  mixed  and  run  into  each  other 

In  a  violet  twilight  of  virtues  and  sins. 
With  the  church-spires  below  you  and  no  one  to  show  you 

Where  the  curate  leaves  off  and  the  pew-rent  begins! 


In  the  black  night  through  the  rank  grass  the  snakes  peer — 

The  cobs  and  the  cobras  are  partial  to  grass — 
And  a  boy  wanders  out  with  a  knowledge  of  Shakespeare 

That's  not  often  found  in  a  boy  of  his  class. 
And  a  girl  wanders  out  without  any  knowledge, 

And  a  bird  wanders  out,  and  a  cow  wanders  out, 
Likewise  one  wether,  and  they  wander  together — 

There's  a  good  deal  of  wandering  lying  about. 

But  its  all  for  the  best*,'  IVe  been  told  by  my  friends,  Sir, 
That  in  verses  I'd  written  the  meaning  was  slight; 

I've  tried  with  no  meaning — to  make  'em^amends.  Sir — • 
And  find  that  this  kind's  still  more  easy  to  write. 

The  title  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  verses. 


406  Burlesque 

But  think^of  the  millions — the  laborers  who 
In  busy  employment  find  deepest  enjoyment, 
And  yet,  like  my  title,   have  nothing  to  do! 

Barry  Pain. 


AN  IDYLL  OF  PHATTE  AND  LEENE 

The  hale  John  Sprat — oft  called  for  shortness,  Jack- 
Had 'married — had,  in  fact,  a  wife — and  she 
Did  worship  him  with  wifely  reverence. 
He,  who  had  loved  her  when  she  was  a  girl, 
Compass'd  her  too,  with  sweet  observances; 
E'en  at  the  dinner  table  did  it  shine. 
For  he — liking  no  fat  himself — he  never  did, 
With  jealous  care  piled  up  her  plate  with  lean, 
Not  knowing  that  all  lean  was  hateful  to  her. 
And  day  by  day  she  thought  to  tell  him  o  't, 
And  watched  the  fat  go  out  with  envious  eye. 
But  could  not  speak  for  bashful  delicacy. 

At  last  it  chanced  that  on  a  winter  day, 

The  beef — a  prize  joint! — little  was  but  fat; 

So  fat,  that  John  had  all  his  work  cut  out. 

To  snip  out  lean  fragments  for  his  wife, 

Leaving,  in  very  sooth,  none  for  himself; 

Which  seeing,  she  spoke  courage  to  her  soul, 

Took  up  her  fork,  and,  pointing  to  the  joint 

Where  'twas  the  fattest,  piteously  she  said; 

"Oh,  husband!  full  of  love  and  tenderness! 

What  is  the  cause  that  you  so  jealously 

Pick  out  the  lean  for  me.     I  like  it  not! 

Nay,  loathe  it — 'tis  on  the  fat  that  I  would  feast; 

O  me,  I  fear  you  do  not  like  my  taste !  " 

Then  he,  dropping  his  horny-handled  carving  knife, 
Sprinkling  therewith  the  gravy  o'er  her  gown, 
Answer'd,  amazed:  "What!  you  like  fat,  my  wife! 
And  never  told  me.    Oh,  this  is  not  kind! 
Think  what  your  reticence  has  wrought  for  us; 
How  all  the  fat  sent  down  unto  the  maid — 


Palabras  Grandiosas  407 

Who  likes  not  fat — for  such  maids  never  do — 

Has  been  put  in  the  waste-tub,  sold  for  grease, 

And  pocketed  as  servant's  perquisite! 

Oh,  wife !  this  news  is  good ;  for  since,  perforce, 

A  joint  must  be  not  fat  nor  lean,  but  both; 

Our  diiferent  tastes  will  serve  our  purpose  well; 

For,  while  you  eat  the  fat — the  lean  to  me 

Falls  as  my  cherished  portion.    Lo !  'tis  good !  " 

So  henceforth— he  that  tells  the  tale  relates — 

In  John  Sprat's  household  waste  was  quite  unknown ; 

For  he  the  lean  did  eat,  and  she  the  fat. 

And  thus  the  dinner-platter  was  all  cleared. 

Unknown. 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  JACK  BUILT 

And  this  reft  house  is  that  the  which  he  built, 
Lamented  Jack !  and  here  his  malt  he  piled. 
Cautious  in  vain !  these  rats  that  squeak  so  wild, 
Squeak  not  unconscious  of  their  father's  guilt. 
Did  he  not  see  her  gleaming  through  the  glade! 
Belike  'twas  she,  the  maiden  all  forlorn. 
What  though  she  milked  no  cow  with  crumpled  horn. 
Yet,  aye  she  haunts  the  dale  where  erst  she  strayed : 
And  aye  before  her  stalks  her  amorous  knight ! 
Still  on  his  thighs  their  wonted  brogues  are  worn. 
And  through  those  brogues,  still  tattered  and  betorn. 
His  hindward  charms  gleam  an  unearthly  white. 

Samuel  Taylor  Cokridge. 


PALABRAS  GRANDIOSAS 

AFTER  T —  B —  A — 

I  LAY  i'  the  bosom  of  the  sun, 

Under  the  roses  dappled  and  dun. 

I  thought  of  the  Sultan  Gingerbeer, 

In  his  palace  beside  the  Bendemeer, 

With  his  Afghan  guards  and  his  eunuchs  blind. 

And  the  harem  that  stretched  for  a  league  behind. 


408  Burlesque 

The  tulips  bent  i'  the  summer  breeze, 

Under  the  broad  chrysanthemum-trees, 

And  the  minstrel,  playing  his  culverin, 

Made  for  mine  ears  a  merry  din. 

If  I  were  the  Sultan,  and  he  were  I, 

Here  i'  the  grass  he  should  loafing  lie. 

And  I  should  bestride  my  zebra  steed. 

And  ride  to  the  hunt  of  the  centipede : 

While  the  pet  of  the  harem,  Dandeline, 

Should  fill  me  a  crystal  bucket  of  wine, 

And  the  kislar  aga,  Up-to-Snuff, 

Should  wipe  my  mouth  when  I  sighed,  "  Enough ! " 

And  the  gay  court  poet,  Fearfulbore, 

Should  sit  in  the  hall  when  the  hunt  was  o'er, 

And  chant  me  songs  of  silvery  tone, 

Not  from  Hafiz,  but — mine  own ! 

Ah,  wee  sweet  love,  beside  me  here, 
I  am  not  the  Sultan  Gingerbeer, 
Nor  you  the  odalisque  Dandeline, 
Yet  I  am  yourn,  and  you  are  mine ! 

Bayard  Taylor. 


A  LOVE  PLAYNT— 1370 

To  yow,  my  Purse,  and  to  noon  other  wighte, 
Complayne  I,  for  ye  be  my  lady  dere ! 

I  am  so  sorry  now  that  ye  been  lyghte, 
For,  certes,  yf  ye  make  me  hevy  chere, 
Me  were  as  leef  be  layde  upon  my  beere. 

For  whiche  unto  your  mercie  thus  I  crye, 

Beethe  hevy  ageyne,  or  elles  mote  I  die! 

Now  voucheth  sauf  this  day,  or  hyt  be  nighte, 
That  I  of  yow  the  blissful  soun  may  here. 

Or  see  your  colour  lyke  the  sunne  brighte, 
That  of  yellownesse  hadde  never  pere. 
Ye  be  my  lyf !  ye  be  myn  herty's  stere! 

Queue  of  comfort  and  good  companyel 

Beethe  hevy  ageyne,  or  elles  mote  I  die  I 


I 


Darwinity  409 

Now,  Purse !  that  ben  to  me  my  lyve*s  lyghte, 
And  surety  as  doune  in  this  world  here, 

Out  of  this  toune  helpe  me  through  your  myghte, 
Syn  that  you  wole  not  bene  my  tresorere; 
For  I  am  shave  as  nigh  as  is  a  frere. 

But  I  pray  unto  your  curtesye, 

Beethe  hevy  ageyne,  or  elles  mote  I  die! 

Godfrey  Turner. 


DARWINITY 

Power  to  thine  elbow,  thou  newest  of  sciences, 
All  the  old  landmarks  are  ripe  for  decay ; 

Wars  are  but  shadows,  and  so  are  alliances, 
Darwin  the  great  is  the  man  of  the  day. 

All  other  'ologies  want  an  apology; 

Bread's  a  mistake — Science  offers  a  stone; 
Nothing  is  true  but  Anthropobiology — 

Darwin  the  great  understands  it  alone. 

• 
Mighty  the  great  evolutionist  teacher  is 

Licking  Morphology  clean  into  shape; 
Lord !  what  an  ape  the  Professor  or  Preacher  is 

Ever  to  doubt  his  descent  from  an  ape. 

Man's  an  Anthropoid — he  cannot  help  that,  you  know- 
First  evoluted  from  Pongos  of  old; 

He's  but  a  branch  of  the  catarrhine  cat,  you  know — 
Monkey  I  mean — that's  an  ape  with  a  cold. 

Fast  dying  out  are  man's  later  Appearances, 

Cataclysmitic  Geologies  gone; 
Now  of  Creation  completed  the  clearance  is, 

Darwin  alone  you  must  anchor  upon. 

Primitive  Life — Organisms  were  chemical, 

Busting  spontaneous  under  the  sea ; 
Purely  subaqueous,  panaquademical, 

Was  the  original  Crystal  of  Me. 


410  Burlesque 

Pm  the  Apostle  of  mighty  Darwinity, 

Stands  for  Divinity — sounds  much  the  same — 

Apo-theistico-Pan-Asininity 

Only  can  doubt  whence  the  lot  of  us  came. 

Down  on  your  knees,  Superstition  and  Flunkeydom ! 

Won't  you  accept  such  plain  doctrines  instead? 
What  is  so  simple  as  primitive  Monkeydom 

Born  in  the  sea  with  a  cold  in  its  head  ? 

Herman  C.  Merivale. 


SELECT  PASSAGES  FROM  A  COMING  POET 

DISENCHANTMENT 

My  Love  has  sicklied  unto  Loath, 

And  foul  seems  all  that  fair  1  fancied — 

The  lily's  sheen's  a  leprous  growth, 
The  very  buttercups  are  rancid. 

• 

ABASEMENT 

With  matted  head  a-dabble  in  the  dust, 

And  eyes  tear-sealed  in  a  saline  crust 
I  lie  all  loathly  in  my  rags  and  rust — 
Yet  learn  that  strange  delight  may  lurk  in  self -disgust. 

• 

STANZA   WRITTEN    IN    DEPRESSION   NEAR   DULWIOH     , 

The  lark  soars  up  in  the  air; 

The  toad  sits  tight  in  his  hole; 
And  T  would  I  were  certain  which  of  the  pair 

Were  the  truer  type  of  my  soul ! 

TO  MY  LADY 

Twine,  lanken  fingers,  lily-lithe, 

Gleam,  slanted  eyes,  all  beryl -green, 
Pout,  blood-red  lips  that  burst  a-writhe. 

Then — kiss  me,  Lady  Grisolinel 


I 


The  Romaunt  of  Humpty  Dumpty  411 

THE    MONSTER 

Uprears  the  monster  now  his  slobberous  head, 
Its  filamentous  chaps  her  ankles  brushing; 

Her  twice-five  roseal  toes  are  cramped  in  dread, 
Each  maidly  instep  mauven-pink  is  flushing. 

A  TRUMPET  BLAST 

Pale  Patricians,  sunk  in  self-indulgence, 
Blink  your  bleared  eyes.    Behold  the  Sun — 

Burst  proclaim  in  purpurate  effulgence, 
Demos  dawning,  and  the  Darkness  done ! 

F.  Anstey. 


THE  ROMAUNT  OF  HUMPTY  DUMPTY 

'Tis  midnight,  and  the  moonbeam  sleeps 

Upon  the  garden  sward; 
My  lady  in  yon  turret  keeps 

Her  tearful  watch  and  ward. 
"  Beshrew  me!  "  mutters,  turning  pale, 

The  stalwart  seneschal; 
"  What's  he,  that  sitteth,  clad  in  mail 

Upon  our  castle  wall  ?  " 

"Arouse  thee,  friar  of  orders  grey; 

What  ho!  bring  book  and  bell! 
Ban  yonder  ghastly  thing,  I  say; 

And,  look  ye,  ban  it  well ! 
By  cock  and  pye,  the  Humpty's  face ! " 

The  form  turned  quickly  round; 
Then  totter'd  from  its  resting-place — 

That  night  the  corse  was  found. 

The  king,  with  hosts  of  fighting  men 
•        Rode  forth  at  break  of  day ;     ^ 
Ah !  never  gleamed  the  sun  till  then 
On  such  a  proud  array. 


412  Burlesque 

But  all  that  army,  horse  and  foot, 
Attempted,  quite  in  vain. 

Upon  the  castle  wall  to  put 
The  Humpty  up  again. 


Henry  S.  Leigh. 


THE  WEDDING 


Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vera! 
I  hardly  know  what  I  must  say, 
But  I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May,  mother, 
I'm  to  be  Queen  of  the  May ! 
I  am  half -crazed;  I  don't  feel  grave, 
Let  me  rave ! 

Whole  weeks  and  months,  early  and  late. 

To  win  his  love  I  lay  in  wait. 
Oh,  the  Earl  was  fair  to  see, 
As  fair  as  any  man  could  be ; — 
The  wind  is  howling  in  turret  and  tree ! 

We  two  shall  be  wed  tomorrow  morn, 
'     And  I  shall  be  the  Lady  Clare, 
And  when  my  marriage  morn  shall  fall, 
I  hardly  know  what  I  shall  wear. 

But  I  shan't  say  "  my  life  is  dreary," 

And  sadly  hang  my  head. 
With  the  remark,  "  I'm  very  weary, 
And  wish  that  I  were  dead." 

But  on  my  husband's  arm  I'll  lean, 

And  roundly  waste  his  plenteous  gold. 
Passing  the  honeymoon  serene 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old. 
For  down  we'll  go  and  take  the  boat 
Beside  St.  Katherine's  docks  afloat. 
Which  round  about  its  prow  has  wrote — 

"  The  Lady  of  Shalotter  " 
(Monday^  and  Thursdays, — Captain  Foat),  * 

Bound  for  the  Dam  of  Rotter. 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr. 


I 


"Songs  Without  Words"  413 


IN  MEMORIAM  TECHNICAM 

I  COUNT  it  true  which  sages  teach — 
That  passion  sways  not  with  repose, 
That  love,  confounding  these  with  those, 

Is  ever  welding  each  with  each. 

And  so  when  time  has  ebbed  away, 
Like  childish  wreaths  too  lightly  held. 
The  song  of  immemorial  eld 

Shall  moan  about  the  belted  bay. 

Where  slant  Orion  slopes  his  star. 

To  swelter  in  the  rolling  seas. 

Till  slowly  widening  by  degrees 
The  grey  climbs  upward  from  afar. 

And  golden  youth  and  passion  stray 

Along  the  ridges  of  the  strand, — 

Not  far  apart,  but  hand  in  hand, — 
With  all  the  darkness  danced  away ! 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr. 


"  SONGS  WITHOUT  WORDS  " 

I  CANNOT  sing  the  old  songs. 

Though  well  I  know  the  tune, 
Familiar  as  a  cradle-song 

With  sleep-compelling  croon; 
Yet  though  I'm  filled  with  music 

As  choirs  of  summer  birds 
"  T  cannot  sing  the  old  songs  " — 

I  do  not  know  the  words. 

I  start  on  "  Hail  Columbia," 
And  get  to  "  heav'n-bom  band," 

And  there  I  strike  an  up-grade 
With  neither  steam  nor  sand; 


414  Burlesque 

"  Star  Spangled  Banner  "  downs  me 
Right  in  my  wildest  screaming, 

I  start  all  right,  but  dumbly  come 
To  voiceless  wreck  at  "  streaming." 


So,  when  I  sing  the  old  songs. 

Don't  murmur  or  complain 
If  "  Ti,  diddy  ah  da,  tum  dum," 

Should  fill  the  sweetest  strain. 
I  love  "  Tolly  um  dum  di  do," 

And  the  *'  trilla-la  yeep  da  "  birds, 
But  "  I  cannot  sing  the  old  songs  " — 

I  do  not  know  the  words. 

Robert  J.  Burdette. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  COCK 

FRENCH   STYLE,   1898 

Being  an  Ode  in  further  "Contribution  to  the  Song  of  French 
History,"  dedicated,  without  malice  or  permission  to  Mr.  George 
Meredith. 


Rooster  her  sign, 

Rooster  her  pugnant  note,  she  struts 

Evocative,  amazon  spurs  aprick  at  heel; 

Nid-nod  the  authentic  stump 

Of  the  once  ensanguined  comb  vermeil  as  wine; 

With  conspuent  doodle-doo 

Hails  breach  o'  the  hectic  dawn  of  yon  New  Year, 

Last  issue  up  to  date 

Of  quiverful  Fate 

Evolved  spontaneous;  hails  with  tonant  trump 

The  spiriting  prime  o'  the  clashed  carillon-peal; 

Ruffling  her  caudal  plumes  derisive  of  scuts; 

Inconscient  how  she  stalks  an  immarcessibly  absurd 

Bird. 


At  the  Sign  of  the  Cock  415 


Mark  where  her  Equatorial  Pioneer 

Delirant  on  the  tramp  goes  littoralwise. 

His  Flag  at  furl,  portmanteaued ;  drains  to  the  dregs 

The  penultimate  brandy-bottle,  coal-on-the-head-pieee  gift 

Of  who  avenged  the  Old  Sea-ilover*s  smirch. 

Marchant  he  treads  the  ail-along  of  inarable  drift 

On  dubiously  connivent  legs, 

The  facile  prey  of  predatory  flies ; 

Panting  for  further;  sworn  to  lurch 

Empirical  on  to  the  Menelik-buffered,  enhavened  blue, 

Khyming — see  Cantique  I. — with  doodle-doo. 


in 

Infuriate  she  kicked  against  Imperial  fact ; 

Vulnant  she  felt 

What  pin-stab  should  have  stained  Another's  pelt 

Puncture  her  own  Colonial  lung-balloon, 

Volant  to  nigh  meridian.    Whence  rebuffed. 

The  perjured  Scythian  she  lacked 

At  need's  pinch,  sick  with  spleen  of  the  rudely  cuffed 

Below  her  breath  she  cursed ;  she  cursed  the  hour 

When  on  her  spring  for  him  the  young  Tyrannical  broke 

Amid  the  unhallowed  wedlock's  vodka-shower, 

She  passionate,  he  dispassionate;  tricked 

Her  wits  to  eye-blind;  borrowed  the  ready  as  for  dower; 

Till  from  the  trance  of  that  Hymettus-moon 

She  woke, 

A  nuptial-knotted  derelict; 

Pensioned  with  Rescripts  other  aid  declined 

By  the  plumped  leech  saturate  urging  Peace 

In  guise  of  heavy-armed  Gospeller  to  men. 

Tyrannical  unto  fraternal  equal  liberal,  her.    Not  she; 

Not  till  Alsace  her  consanguineous  find 

What  red  deteutonising  artillery 

Shall  shatter  her  beer-reek  alien  police 

The  just-now  pluripollent ;  not  till  then. 


416  Burlesque 

IV 

More  pungent  yet  the  esoteric  pain 

Squeezing  her  pliable  vitals  nouoshes  feud 

Insanely  grumous,.  grumously  insane. 

For  lo! 

Past  common  balmly  on  the  Bordereau, 

Churns  she  the  skim  o'  the  gutter's  crust 

With  Anti-Judaic  various  carmagnole. 

Whooped  praise  of  the  Anti-just; 

Her  boulevard  brood 

Gyratory  in  convolvements  militant-mad; 

Theatrical  of  faith  in  the  Belliform, 

Her  Og, 

Her  Monstrous.    Fled  what  force  she  had 

To  buckle  the  jaw-gape,  wide  agog 

For  the  Preconcerted  One, 

The  Anticipated,  ripe  to  clinch  the  whole; 

Queen-bee  to  hive  the  hither  and  thither  volant  swarm. 

Bides  she  his  coming;  adumbrates  the  new 

Expurgatorial  Divine, 

Her  final  effulgent  Avatar, 

Postured  outside  a  trampling  mastodon 

Black  as  her  Baker's  charger;  towering;  visibly  gorged 

With  blood  of  traitors.    Knee-grip  stiff, 

Spine  straightened,  on  he  rides; 

Embossed  the  Patriot's  brow  with  hieroglyph 

Of  martial  dossiers,  nothing  forged 

About  him  save  his  armour.     So  she  bides 

Voicing  his  advent  indeterminably  far. 

Rooster  her  sign, 

Eooster  her  conspuent  doodle-doo. 


Behold  her,  pranked  with  spurs  for  bloody  sport, 

How  she  acclaims, 

A  crapulous  chanticleer. 

Breach  of  the  hectic  dawn  of  yon  New  Year. 

Not  yet  her  fill  of  rumours  sucked; 


Presto  Furioso  417 

Inebriate  of  honour;  blushfully  wroth; 
Tireless  to  play  her  old  primeval  games; 
Her  plumage  preened  the  yet  unplucked 
Liks  sails  of  a  galleon,  rudder  hard  amort 
With  crepitant  mast 

Fronting  the  hazard  to  dare  of  a  dual  blast 
The  intern  and  the  extern,  blizzards  both. 

Owen  Seaman. 


PEESTO  FUEIOSO 
after  waxt  whitman 

Spontaneous  IJs  ! 

0  my  Camarados!    I  have  no  delicatesse  as  a  diplomat,  but 

I  go  blind  on  Libertad ! 

Give  me  the  flap-flap  of  the  soaring  Eagle's  pinions! 

Give  me  the  tail  of  the  British  lion  tied  in  a  knot  inextrica- 
ble, not  to  be  solved  anyhow! 

Give  me  a  standing  army  (I  say  "  give  me,"  because  just  at 
present  we  want  one  badly,  armies  being  often  useful 
in  time  of  war). 

1  see  our  superb  fleet  (I  take  it  that  we  are  to  have  a  superb 

fleet  built  almost  immediately)  ; 
I  observe  the  crews  prospectively;  they  are  constituted  of 

various  nationalities,  not  necessarily  American ;  ' 

I  see  them  sling  the  slug  and  chew  the  plug; 
I  hear  the  drum  begin  to  hum ; 

Both  the  above  rhymes  are  purely  accidental,  and  contrary 
to  my  principles. 

We  shall  wipe  the  floor  of  the  mill-pond  with  the  scalps  of 
able-bodied  British  tars! 

I  see  Professor  Edison  about  to  arrange  for  us  a  torpedo- 
hose  on  wheels,  likewise  an  infernal  electro-semaphore; 

I  see  Henry  Irving  dead  sick  and  declining  to  play  Corporal 
Brewster ; 

Cornell,  I  yell!    I  yell  Cornell! 


418  Burlesque 

I  note  the  Manhattan  boss  leaving  his  dry-goods  store  and 
investing  in  a  small  Gatling-gun  and  a  ten-cent 
banner ; 

I  further  note  the  Identity  evolved  out  of  forty-four  spa- 
cious and  thoughtful  States ; 

I  note  Canada  as  shortly  to  be  merged  in  that  Identity; 
similarly  Van  Diemen's  Land,  Gibraltar,  and  Strat- 
f  ord-on-Avon ; 

Briefly,  I  see  creation  whipped! 

0  ye  Colonels!     I  am  with  you  (I  too  am  a  Colonel  and  on 

the  pension-list) ; 

1  drink  to  the  lot  of  you;  to  Colonels  Cleveland,  Ilitt,  Van- 

derbilt,  Chauncey  M.  Depew,  O'Bonovan  Rossa,  and 
the  late  Colonel  Monroe; 

I  drink  an  egg-flip,  a  morning-caress,  an  eye-opener,  a 
maiden-bosom,  a  vermuth-cocktail,  three  sherry-cob- 
blers, and  a  gin-sling! 

Good  old  Eagle! 

Owen  Seaman. 


TO  JULIA  IN  SHOOTING  TOGS 

AND   A    HERRICKOSE   VEIN 

Whenas  to  shoot  my  Julia  goes. 

Then,  then   (methinks),  how  bravely  shows 

That  rare  arrangement  of  her  clothes! 

So  shod  as  when  the  Huntress  Maid 
With  thumping  buskin  bruised  the  glade, 
She  moveth,  making  earth  afraid. 

Against  the  sting  of  random  chaff 
Her  leathern  gaiters  circle  half 
The  arduous  crescent  of  her  caH. 

Unto  th'  occasion  timely  fit, 

My  love's  attire  doth  show  her  wit, 

And  of  her  legs  a  little  bit. 


I 


Farewell  419 


Sorely  it  sticketh  in  my  throat, 
She  having  nowhere  to  bestow't, 
To  name  the  absent  petticoat. 

In  lieu  whereof  a  wanton  pair 
Of  knickerbockers  she  doth  wear, 
Full  windy  and  with  space  to  spare. 

Enlarged  by  the  bellying  breeze. 
Lord!  how  they  playfully  do  ease 
The  urgent  knocking  of  her  knees! 

Lengthways  curtailed  to  her  taste 
A  tunic  circumvents  her  waist. 
And  soothly  it  is  passing  chaste. 

Upon  her  head  she  hath  a  gear 
Even  such  as  wights  of  ruddy  cheer 
Do  use  in  stalking  of  the  deer. 

Haply  her  truant  tresses  mock 
Some  coronal  of  shapelier  block, 
To  wit,  the  bounding  billy-cock. 

Withal  she  hath  a  loaded  gun. 
Whereat  the  pheasants,  as  they  run, 
Do  make  a  fair  diversion. 

For  very  awe,  if  so  she  shoots, 
My  hair  upriseth  from  the  roots, 
And  lo !  I  tremble  in  my  boots ! 


Owen  Seaman. 


FAREWELL 


"  Farewell  !  "    Another  gloomy  word 
As  ever  into  language  crept. 

'Tis  often  written,  never  heard. 
Except 


420  Burlesque 

In  playhouse.    Ere  the  hero  flits — 

In  handcuffs — from  our  pitying  view. 
"  Farewell !  "  he  murmurs,  then  exits 
K.  U. 


"  Farewell "  is  much  too  sighf ul  for 
An  age  that  has  not  time  to  sigh. 
We  say,  "  I'll  see  you  later,"  or 
"Good  by!" 

When,  warned  by  chanticleer,  you  go 
From  her  to  whom  you  owe  devoir, 
"  Say  not  *  good  by,'  "  she  laughs,  "  but 
'AuRevoir!'" 

Thus  from  the  garden  are  you  sped ; 

And  Juliet  were  the  first  to  tell 
You,  you  were  silly  if  you  said 
"Farewell!" 

'^  Farewell,"  meant  long  ago,  before 
It  crept,  tear-spattered,  into  song, 
Safe  voyage !  "    "  Pleasant  journey !  "  or 
"So  long!" 


<( 


But  gone  its  cheery,  old-time  ring; 

The  poets  made  it  rhyme  with  knell — 
Joined  it  became  a  dismal  thing — 
"Farewell!" 


"  Farewell !  "  into  the  lover's  soul 

You  see  Fate  plunge  the  fatal  iron. 
All  poets  use  it.    It's  the  whole 
Of  Byron. 

"I  only  feel — farewell!"  said  he; 

And  always  fearful  was  the  telling- 
Lord  Byron  was  eternally 
Farewelling. 


Here  is   the  Tale  421 

"  Farewell !  "    A  dismal  word,  *tis  true 

(And  why  not  tell  the  truth  about  it!)  ; 
But  what  on  earth  would  poets  do 
Without  it? 

Bert  Leston  Taylor. 


HERE  IS  THE  TALE 

AFTER  RUDYARD  KIPLING 

Here  is  the  tale — and  you  must  maJce  the  most  of  it! 

Here  is  the  rhyme — ah,  listen  and  attend! 
Backwards — forwards — read  it  all  and  hoast  of  it 

If  you  are  anything  the  wiser  at  the  end! 

Now  Jack  looked  up — ^it  was  time  to  sup,  and  the  bucket  was 

yet  to  fill, 
And   Jack   looked    round   for    a    space   and    frowned,    then 

beckoned  his  sister  Jill, 
And  twice  he  pulled  his  sister's  hair,  and  thrice  he  smote  her 

side; 
**  Ha'  done,  ha'  done  with  your  impudent  fun — ha'  done  with 

your  games !  "  she  cried ; 
"  You  have  made  mud-pies  of  a  marvellous  size — finger  and 

face  are  black, 
You  have  trodden  the  Way  of  the  Mire  and  Clay — now  up 

and  wash  you.  Jack ! 
Or  else,  or  ever  we  reach  our  home,  there  waiteth  an  angry 

dame — 
Well  ypu  know  the  weight  of  her  blow — the  supperless  open 

shame ! 
Wash,  if  you  will,  on  yonder  hill — wash,  if  you  will,  at  the 

spring, — 
Or  keep  your  dirt,  to  your  certain  hurt,  and  an  imminent 

walloping ! " 

"  You  must  wash — ^you  must  scrub — you  must  scrape ! " 
growled  Jack,  "  you  must  trafiic  with  cans  and  pails. 

Nor  keep  the  spoil  of  the  good  brown  soil  in  the  rim  of  your 
finger-nails  I 


422  Burlesque 

The  morning  path  you  must  tread  to  your  bath — you  must 
wash  ere  the  night  descends, 

And  all  for  the  cause  of  conventional  laws  and  the  soap- 
makers'  dividends! 

But  if  'tis  sooth  that  our  meal  in  truth  depends  on  our 
washing,  Jill, 

By  the  sacred  right  of  our  appetite — haste — haste  to  the  top 
of  the  hill!" 


They  have  trodden  the  Way  of  the  Mire  and  Clay,  they  have 

toiled  and  travelled  far, 
They  have  climbed  to  the  brow  of  the  hill-top  now,  where 

the  bubbling  fountains  are, 
They  have  taken  the  bucket  and  filled  it  up — yea,  filled  it  up 

to  the  brim; 
But  Jack  he  sneered  at  his  sister  Jill,  and  Jill  she  jeered 

at  him: 
**  What,  blown   already ! "  Jack  cried   out    (and  his   was   a 

biting  mirth!) 
**  You  boast  indeed  of  your  wonderful  speed — but  what  is  the 

boasting  worth? 
Now,  if  you  can  run  as  the  antelope  runs  and  if  you  can 

turn  like  a  hare. 
Come,  race  me,  Jill,  to  the  foot  of  the  hill — and  prove  your 

boasting  fair ! " 
"Kace?    What  is  a  race"  (and  a  mocking  face  had  Jill  as 

she  spake  the  word) 
**  Unless  for  a  prize  the  runner  tries?    The  truth  indeed  ye 

heard. 
For  I  can  run  as  the  antelope  runs,  and  I  can  turn  like  a 

hare : — 
The  first  one  down  wins  half-a-crown — and  I  will  race  you 

there!" 
"Yea,  if  for  the  lesson  that  you  will  learn   (the  lesson  of 

humbled  pride) 
The  price  you  fix  at  two-and-six,  it  shall  not  be  denied ; 
Come,  take  your  stand   at  my  right  hand,  for  here  is  the 

mark  we  toe: 
Now,  are  you  ready,  and  are  you  steady?    Gird  up  your  petti- 
coats!   Go!" 


The  Willows  423 

And  Jill  she  ran  like  a  winging  bolt,  a  bolt  from  the  bow 
released, 

But  Jack  like  a  stream  of  the  lightning  gleam,  with  its  path- 
way duly  greased ; 

He  ran  down  hill  in  front  of  Jill  like  a  summer-lightning 

flash- 
Till  he  suddenly  tripped  on  a  stone,  or  slipped,  and  fell  to 
the  earth  with  a  crash. 

Then  straight  did  rise  on  his  wondering  eyes  the  constella- 
tions fair, 

Arcturus  and  the  Pleiades,  the  Greater  and  Lesser  Bear, 

The  swirling  rain  of  a  comet's  train  he  saw,  as  he  swiftly 
fell— 

And  Jill  came  tumbling  after  him  with  a  loud  triumphant 
yell: 

"  You  have  won,  you  have  won,  the  race  is  done !  And  as 
for  the  wager  laid — 

You  have  fallen  down  with  a  broken  crown — the  half-crown 
debt  is  paid !  " 

They  have  taken  Jack  to  the  room  at  the  back  where  the 

family  medicines  are. 
And  he  lies  in  bed  with  a  broken  head  in  a  halo  of  vinegar; 
While,  in  that  Jill  had  laughed  her  fill  as  her  brother  fell 

to  earth. 
She  had  felt  the  sting  of  a  walloping — she  hath  paid  the 
price  of  her  mirth! 

Here  is  the  tale — and  now  you  have  the  whole  of  it, 
Here  is  the  story — well  and  wisely  planned, 
Beauty — Duty — these  make  up  the  soul  of  it — 
But,  ah,  my  little  readers,  will  you  mark  and  understand? 

Anthony  C.  Deane. 


THE  WILLOWS 

The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober. 
The  streets  they  were  dirty  and  drear; 

It  was  night  in  the  month  of  October, 
Of  my  most  immemorial  year; 


424  Burlesque 

Like  the  skies  I  was  perfectly  sober, 
As  I  stopped  at  the  mansion  of  Shear, — 

At  the  "  Nightingale," — perfectly  sober. 
And  the  willowy  woodland,  down  here. 

Here  once  in  an  alley  Titanic 
Of  Ten-pins, — I  roamed  with  my  soul, — 
Of  Ten-pins, — with  Mary,  my  soul; 

They  were  days  when  my  heart  was  volcanic, 
And  impelled  me  to  frequently  roll. 
And  made  me  resistlessly  roll. 

Till  my  ten-strikes  created  a  panic 
In  the  realms  of  the  Boreal  pole. 

Till  my  ten-strikes  created  a  panic 
With  the  monkey  atop  of  his  pole. 

I  repeat,  I  was  perfectly  sober. 

But  my  thoughts  they  were  palsied  and  sear. 

My  thoughts  were  decidedly  queer; 
For  T  knew  not  the  month  was  October, 

And  I  marked  not  the  night  of  the  year; 
I  forgot  that  sweet  morgeau  of  Auber 

That  the  band  oft  performed  down  here ; 
And  I  mixed  the  sweet  music  of  Auber 

With  the  Nightingale's  music  by  Shear. 

And  now  as  the  night  was  senescent, 

And  star-dials  pointed  to  morn, 

And  car-drivers  hinted  of  morn, 
At  the  end  of  the  path  a  liquescent 

And  bibulous  lustre  was  born : 
'Twas  made  by  the  bar-keeper  present. 

Who  mixed  a  duplicate  horn, — 
His  two  hands  describing  a  crescent 

Distinct  with  a  duplicate  horn. 

And  I  said :  "  This  looks  perfectly  regal ; 
-    For  it's  warm,  and  I  know  I  feel  dry, — 

I  am  confident  that  I  feel  dry. 
We  have  come  past  the  emeu  and  eagle, 

And  watched  the  gay  monkey  on  high; 


The  Willows  425 

Let  us  drink  to  the  emeu  and  eagle, — 

To  the  swan  and  the  monkey  on  high — 

To  the  eagle  and  monkey  on  high; 
For  this  bar-keeper  will  not  inveigle, — 

Bully  boy  with  the  vitreous  eye; 
He  surely  would  never  inveigle, — 

Sweet  youth  with  the  crystalline  eye." 

But  Mary,  uplifting  her  finger, 

Said,  "  Sadly  this  bar  I  mistrust, — 

I  fear  that  this  bar  does  not  trust. 
Oh,  hasten !  oh,  let  us  not  linger ! 

Oh,  fly ! — let  us  fly — ere  we  must !  " 
In  terror  she  cried,  letting  sink  her 

Parasol  till  it  trailed  in  the  dust, — 
In  agony  sobbed,  letting  sink  her 

Parasol  till  it  trailed  in  the  dust, — 

Till  it  sorrowfully  trailed  in  the  dust. 

Then  T  pacified  Mary,  and  kissed  her, 
And  tempted  her  into  the  room, 
And  conquered  her  scruples  and  gloom; 

And  we  passed  to  the  end  of  the  vista. 

But  were  stopped  by  the  warning  of  doom — 
By  some  words  that  were  warning  of  doom. 

And  I  said,  "  What  is  written,  sweet  sister. 
At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  ? " 

She  sobbecJ;  as  she  answered,  "  All  liquors 
Must  be  paid  for  ere  leaving  the  room." 


Then  my  heart  it  grew  ashen  and  sober, 
As  the  streets  were  deserted  and  drear — 
For  my  pockets  were  empty  and  drear; 

And  I  cried,  "  It  was  surely  October, 
On  this  very  night  of  last  year. 
That  I  journeyed — I  journeyed  down  here 
That  I  brought  a  fair  maiden  down  here. 
On  this  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year. 
Ah!  to  me  that  inscription  is  clear: 


426  Burlesque 

Well  I  know  now  I'm  perfectly  sober, 
Why  no  longer  they  credit  me  here, — 

Well  I  know  now  ishat  music  of  Auber, 
And  this  Nightingale,  kept  by  one  Shear." 

Br€t  Harte. 


A  BALLAD 

IN   THE   MANNER  OF  R  -  DY  -  RD  K  -  PL  -  NG 

As  I  was  walkin'  the  jungle  round,  a-killin'  of  tigers  an'  time; 
I  seed  a  kind  of  an  author  man  a  writin'  a  rousin'  rhyme; 
'E  was  writin'  a  mile  a  minute  an'  more,  an'  I  sez  to  'im, 

"'Oo  are  you?" 
Sez  'e,  "  I'm  a  poet — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor, 

too!" 
An  'is  poem  began  in  Ispahan  an'  ended  in  Kalamazoo, 
It  'ad  army  in  it,  an'  navy  in  it,  an'  jungle  sprinkled  through. 
For  'e  was  a  poet — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor,  too ! 

An'  after,  I  met  'im  all  over  the  world,  a  doin'  of  things  a 

host; 
'E  'ad  one  foot  planted  in  Burmah,  an'  one  on  the  Gloucester 

coast ; 
'Es  'alf  a  sailor  an'  'alf  a  whaler,  'e's  captain,  cook  and  crew, 
But  most  a  poet — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor  too! 
'E's  often    Scot  an'  'e's   often   not,   but   'is   work   is  never 

through 
For  'e  laughs  at  blame,  an'  'e  writes  for  fame,  an'  a  bit  for 

revenoo, — 
Bein'  a  poet — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor  too! 

'E'll  take  you  up  to  the  Ar'tic  zone,  'e'll  take  you  down  to 

the  Nile, 
'E'll  give  you  a  barrack  ballad  in  the  Tommy  Atkins  style. 
Or  'e'll  sing  you  a  Dipsy  Chantey,  as  the  bloomin'  bo'suns 

do. 
For  'e  is  a  poet — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor  too. 
An'  there  isn't  no  room  for  others,  an'  there's  nothin'  left 

to  do; 


Commonplaces  427 

*E  'as  sailed  the  main  from  the  'Orn  to  Spain,  'e  'as  tramped 

the  jungle  through, 
An'  written  up  all  there  is  to  write — soldier  an'  sailor,  tool 

There  are  manners  an'  manners  of  writin',  but  'is  is  the 

proper  way, 
An'  it  ain't  so  hard  to  be  a  bard  if  you'll  imitate  Rudyard  K. ; 
But  sea  an'  shore  an'  peace  an'  war,  an'  everything  else  in 

view — 
'E  'as  gobbled  the  lot! — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor, 

too. 
'E's  not  content  with  'is  Indian  'ome,  'e's  looking  for  regions 

new. 
In  another  year  'e'll  ave  swept  'em  clear,  an'  what'U  the 

rest  of  us  do? 
'E's  crowdin*  us  out! — 'er  majesty's  poet — soldier  an'  sailor 

too! 

Guy  Wet  more  Carryl. 

THE  TRANSLATED  WAY. 

Being  a  lyric  translation  of  Heine's  "  Du  bist  wie  eine  Blume," 
as  it  is  usually  done. 

Thou  art  like  unto  a  Flower, 

So  pure  and  clean  thou  art; 
I  view  thee  and  much  sadness 

Steals  to  me  in  the  heart. 

To  me  it  seems  my  Hands  I 

Should  now  impose  on  your 
Head,  praying  God  to  keep  you 

So  fine  and  clean  and  pure. 

Franklin  P.  Adams, 


COMMONPLACES 

Rain  on  the  face  of  the  sea. 

Rain  on  the  sodden  land, 
And  the  window-pane  is  blurred  with  rain 

As  I  watch  it>  pen  in  hand. 


428  Burlesque 

Mist  on  the  face  of  the  sea. 

Mist  on  the  sodden  land, 
Filling  the  vales  as  daylight  fails. 

And  blotting  the  desolate  sand. 

Voices  from  out  of  the  mist, 

Calling  to  one  another: 
"  Hath  love  an  end,  thou  more  than  friend, 

Thou  dearer  than  ever  brother?  " 

Voices  from  out  of  the  mist, 

Calling  and  passing  away; 
But  I  cannot  speak,  for  my  voice  is  weak, 

And  .    .    .  this  is  the  end  of  my  lay. 

Rudyard  Kipling 


ANGELO  ORDERS  HIS  DINNER 

I,  Angelo,  obese,  black-garmented. 

Respectable,  much  in  demand,  well  fed 

With  mine  own  larder's  dainties,  where,  indeed, 

Such  cakes  of  myrrh  or  fine  alyssum  seed, 

Thin  as  a  mallow-leaf,  embrowned  o'  the  top. 

Which,  cracking,  lets  the  ropy,  trickling  drop 

Of  sweetness  touch  your  tongue,  or  potted  nests 

Which  my  recondite  recipe  invests 

With  cold  conglomerate  tidbits — ah,  the  bill! 

(You  say),  but  given  it  were  mine  to  fill 

My  chests,  the  case  so  put  were  yours,  we'll  say 

(This  counter,  here,  your  post,  as  mine  to-day), 

And  you've  an  eye  to  luxuries,  what  harm 

In  smoothing  down  your  palate  with  the  charm 

Yourself  concocted?    There  we  issue  take; 

And  see!  as  thus  across  the  rim  I  break 

This  puffy  paunch  of  glazed  embroidered  cake, 

So  breaks,  through  use,  the  lust  of  watering  chaps 

And  craveth  plainness:  do  I  so?    Perhaps; 

But  that's  my  secret.    Find  me  such  a  man 

As  Lippo  yonder,  built  upon  the  plan 


The  Promissory  Note  429 

Of  heavy  storage,  double-navelled,  fat 
From  his  own  giblet's  oils,  an  Ararat 
Uplift  o'er  water,  sucking  rosy  draughts 
From  Noah's  vineyard, — crisp,  enticing  wafts 
Yon  kitchen  now  emits,  which  to  your  sense 
Somewhat  abate  the  fear  of  old  events, 
Qualms  to  the  stomach, — I,  you  see,  am  slow 
Unnecessary  duties  to  forego, — 
You  understand?    A  venison  haunch,  haut  gout. 
Ducks  that  in  Cimbrian  olives  mildly  stew. 
And  sprigs  of  anise,  might  one's  teeth  provoke 
To  taste,  and  so  we  wear  the  complex  yoke 
Just  as  it  suits, — my  liking,  T  confess, 
More  to  receive,  and  to  partake  no  less, 
Still  more  obese,  while  through  thick  adipose 
Sensation  shoots,  from  testing  tongue  to  toes 
Far  off,  dim-conscious,  at  the  body's  verge. 
Where  the  froth-whispers  of  its  waves  emerge 
On  the  untasting  sand.    Stay,  now!  a  seat 
Is  bare:  T,  Angelo,  will  sit  and  eat. 

Bayard  Taylor. 

THE  PROMISSORY  NOTE 

In  the  lonesome  latter  years 

(Fatal  years!) 
To  the  dropping  of  my  tears 
Danced  the  mad  and  mystic  spheres 
In  a  rounded,  reeling  rune, 
'Neath  the  moon, 
To  the  dripping  and  the  dropping  of  my  tears. 

Ah,  my  soul  is  swathed  in  gloom, 

(Ulalume!) 
In  a  dim  Titanic  tomb, 
For  my  gaunt  and  gloomy  soul 
Ponders  o'er  the  penal  scroll, 
O'er  the  parchment  (not  a  rhyme). 
Out  of  place, — out  of  time, — 
I  am  shredded,  shorn,  unshifty, 

(Oh,  the  fifty!) 


430  Burlesque 

And  the  days  have  passed,  the  three. 
Over  me! 
And  the  debit  and  the  credit  are  as  one  to  him  and  me! 

Twas  the  random  runes  I  wrote 
At  the  bottom  of  the  note, 

(Wrote  and  freely 

Gave  to  Greeley) 
In  the  middle  of  the  night, 
In  the  mellow,  moonless  night. 
When  the  stars  were  out  of  sight. 
When  my  pulses,  like  a  knell,    . 

(Israfel!) 
Danced  with  dim  and  dying  fays 
O'er  the  ruins  of  my  days, 
O^er  the  dimeless,   timeless  days. 
When  the  fifty,  drawn  at  thirty, 
Seeming  thrifty,  yet  the  dirty 
Lucre  of  the  market,  was  the  most  that  I  could  raise! 

Fiends  controlled  it, 
(Let  him  hold  it!) 
Devils  held  for  me  the  inkstand  and  the  pen ; 
Now  the  days  of  grace  are  o'er, 

(Ah,  Lenore!) 
I  am  but  as  other  men; 
What  is  time,  time,  time. 
To  my  rare  and  runic  rhyme. 
To  my  random,  reeling  rhyme. 
By  the  sands  along  the  shore. 
Where  the  tempest  whispers,  "  Pay  him !  "  and  I   answer, 
"  Nevermore ! " 

Bayard  Taylor. 


CAMEKADOS 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  following  me; 

Taking  me  by  the  buttonhole,  pulling  off  my  boots,  hustling 

me  with  the  elbows; 
Sitting  down  with  me  to  clams  and  the  chowder-kettle; 


The  Last  Ride  Together  431 

Plunging  naked  at  my  side  into  the  sleek,  irascible  surges; 

Soothing  me  with  the  strain  that  1  neither  permit  nor  pro- 
hibit; 

Flocking  this  way  and  that,  reverent,  eager,  orotund,  irre- 
pressible ; 

Denser  than  sycamore  leaves  when  the  north-winds  are  scour- 
ing Paumanok; 

What  can  I  do  to  restrain  them?    Nothing,  verily  nothing, 

Everywhere,  everywhere,  crying  aloud  for  me; 

Crying,  I  hear;  and  I  satisfy  them  out  of  my  nature; 

And  he  that  comes  at  the  end  of  the  feast  shall  find  some- 
thing- over. 

Whatever  they  want  I  give;  though  it  be  something  else,  they 
shall  have  it. 

Drunkard,  leper,  Tammanyite,  small-pox  and  cholera  patient, 
shoddy  and  codfish  millionnaire. 

And   the   beautiful   young   men,    and   the   beautiful   young 
women,  all  the  same, 

Crowding,  hundreds  of  thousands,  cosmical  multitudes. 

Buss  me  and  hang  on  my  hips  and  lean  up  to  my  shoulders. 

Everywhere  listening  to  my  yawp  and  glad  whenever  they 
hear  it; 

Everywhere  saying,  say  it,  Walt,  we  believe  it : 

Everywhere  everywhere. 

Bayard  Taylor. 


THE  LAST  RIDE  TOGETHER 

PROM   HER  POINT  OF  VIEW 

When  I  had  firmly  answered  "  No," 
And  he  allowed  that  that  was  so, 
I  really  thought  I  should  be  free 
For  good  and  all  from  Mr.  B., 

And  that  he  would  soberly  acquiesce. 
I  said  that  it  would  be  discreet 
That  for  awhile  we  should  not  meet; 
I  promised  that  T  would  always  feel 
A  kindly  interest  in  his  weal; 
I  thanked  him  for  his  amorous  zeal ; 

Tn  short,  I  said  all  I  could  but  *'  yes." 


432  Burlesque 

I  said  what  I'm  accustomed  to; 

I  acted  as  I  always  do. 

I  promised  he  should  find  in  me 

A  friend, — a  sister,  if  that  might  be; 

But  he  was  still  dissatisfied. 
He  certainly  was  most  polite; 
He  said  exactly  what  was  right. 
He  acted  very  properly, 
Except  indeed  for  this,  that  he 
Insisted  on  inviting  me 

To  come  with  him  for  "  one  more  last  ride." 


A  little  while  in  doubt  I  stood: 
A  ride,  no  doubt,  would  do  me  good; 
I  had  a  habit  and  a  hat 
Extremely  well  worth  looking  at; 

The  weather  was  distinctly  fine. 
My  horse,  too,  wanted  exercise, 
And  time,  when  one  is  riding,  flies; 
Besides,  it  really  seemed,  you  see, 
The  only  way  of  ridding  me 
Of  pertinacious  Mr.  B. ; 

So  my  head  I  graciously  incline. 


I  won't  say  much  of  what  happened  next; 
I  own  I  was  extremely  vexed. 
Indeed  I  should  have  been  aghast 
If  any  one  had  seen  what  passed ; 

But  nobody  need  ever  know 
That,  as  I  leaned  forward  to  stir  the  fire. 
He  advanced  before  I  could  well  retire; 
And  I  suddenly  felt,  to  my  great  alarm. 
The  grasp  of  a  warm,  unlicensed  arm, 
An  embrace  in  which  I  found  no  charm; 

I  was  awfully  glad  when  he  let  me  go. 


Then  we  began  to  ride;  my  steed 
Was  rather  fresh,  too  fresh  indeed, 


The  Last  Ride  Together  433 

And  at  first  I  thought  of  little,  save 
The  way  to  escape  an  early  grave. 

As  the  dust  rose  up  on  either  side. 
My  stern  companion  jogged  along 
On  a  brown  old  cob  both  broad  and  strong. 
He  looked  as  he  does  when  he's  writing  verse. 
Or  endeavoring  not  to  swear  and  curse, 
Or  wondering  where  he  has  left  his  purse; 

Indeed  it  was  a  sombre  ride. 


I  spoke  of  the  weather  to  Mr.  B., 

But  he  neither  listened  nor  spoke  to  me. 

I  praised  his  horse,  and  I  smiled  the  smile 

Which  was  wont  to  move  him  once  in  a  while. 

I  said  I  was  wearing  has  favorite  flowers, 
But  I  wasted  my  words  on  the  desert  air. 
For  he  rode  with  a  fixed  and  gloomy  stare. 
I  wonder  what  he  was  thinking  about. 
As  I  don't  read  verse,  I  shan't  find  out. 
It  was  something  subtle  and  deep,  no  doubt, 

A  theme  to  detain  a  man  for  hours. 


Ah !  there  was  the  comer  where  Mr.  S. 
So  nearly  induced  me  to  whisper  "yes"; 
And  here  it  was  that  the  next  but  one 
Proposed  on  horseback,  or  would  have  done, 

Had  his  horse  not  most  opportunely  shied ; 
Which  perhaps  was  due  to  the  unseen  flick 
He  received  from  my  whip;  'twas  a  scurvy  trick, 
But  I  never  could  do  with  that  young  man, — 
I  hope  his  present  young  woman  can. 
Well,  I  must  say,  never,  since  time  began. 

Did  I  go  for  a  duller  or  longer  ride. 

He  never  smiles  and  he  never  speaks; 
He  might  go  on  like  this  for  weeks; 
He  rolls  a  slightly  frenzied  eye 
Towards  the  blue  and  burning  sky. 

And  the  cob  bounds  on  with  tireless  stride. 


434j  Burlesque 

If  we  aren't  home  for  lunch  at  two 
I  don't  know  what  papa  will  do; 
But  I  know  full  well  he  will  say  to  me, 
"  I  never  approved  of  Mr.  B. ; 
It's  the  very  devil  that  you  and  he 
Bide,  ride  together,  forever  ride." 

James  Kenneth  Stephen. 


IMITATION  OF  WALT  WHITMAN 

Who  am  I? 

I  have  been  reading  Walt  Whitman,  and  know  not  whether 

he  be  me,  or  me  he; — 
Or  otherwise! 
Oh,  blue  skies L  oh,  rugged  mountains!  oh,  mighty,  rolling 

Niagara! 
O,  chaos  and  everlasting  bosh ! 
I  am  a  poet;  I  swear  it!    If  you  do  not  believe  it  you  are  a 

dolt,  a  fool,  an  idiot! 
Milton,  Shakespere,  Dante,  Tommy  Moore,  Pope,  never,  but 

Byron,  too,  perhaps,  and  last,  not  least.  Me,  and  the 

Poet  Close. 
We  send  our  resonance  echoing  down  the  adamantine  canons 

of  the  future! 
We  live  forever!    The  worms  who  criticise  us  (asses!)  laugh, 

scoff,  jeer,  and  babble — die ! 
Serve  them  right. 
What  is  the  difference  between   Judy,  the  pride  of  Fleet 

Street,  the  glory  of  Shoe  Lane,  and  Walt  Whitman? 
Start  not!     'Tis  no  end  of  a  minstrel  show  who  perpends 

this  query; 
'Tis  no  brain-racking  puzzle  from  an   inner  page  of  the 

Family  Herald, 
No  charade,  acrostic  (double  or  single),  conundrum,  riddle, 

rebus,  anagram,  or  other  guess-work. 
I  answer  thus:  We  both    write  truths — great,  stern,  solemn, 

unquenchable  truths — couched  in  more  or  less  ridicu- 
lous language. 


Imitation  of  Walt  Whitman  435 

I,  as  a  rule  use  rhyme,  he  does  not;  therefore,  I  am  his 
Superior  (which  is  also  a  lake  in  his  great  and  glori- 
ous country). 

I  scorn,  with  the  unutterable  scorn  of  the  despiser  of  petti- 
ness, to  take  a  mean  advantage  of  him. 

He  writes,  he  sells,  he  is  read  (more  or  less) ;  why  then 
should  I  rack  my  brains  and  my  rhyming  dictionary? 
I  will  see  the  public  hanged  first! 

I  sing  of  America,  of  the  United  States,  of  the  stars  and 
stripes  of  Oskhosh,  of  Kalamazoo,  and  of  Salt  Lake 
City. 

I  sing  of  the  railroad  cars,  of  the  hotels,  of  the  breakfasts, 
the  lunches,  the  dinners,  and  the  suppers; 

Of  the  soup,  the  fish,  the  entrees,  the  joints,  the  game,  the 
puddings  and  the  ice-cream. 

I  sing  all — I  eat  all — I  sing  in  turn  of  Dr.  Bluffem's  Anti- 
bilious  Pills. 

No  subject  is  too  small,  too  insignificant,  for  Nature's  poet. 

I  sing  of  the  cocktail,  a  new  song  for  every  cocktail,  hundreds 
of  songs,  hundreds  of  cocktails. 

It  is  a  great  and  a  glorious  land !  The  Mississippi,  the  Mis- 
souri, and  a  million  other  torrents  roll  their  waters  to 
the  ocean. 

It  is  a  great  and  glorious  land !  The  Alleghanies,  the  Cats- 
kills,  the  Rockies  (see  atlas  for  other  mountain  ranges 
too  numerous  to  mention)  pierce  the  clouds! 

And  the  greatest  and  most  glorious  product  of  this  great 
and  glorious  land  is  Walt  Whitman; 

This  must  be  so,  for  he  says  it  himself. 

There  is  but  one  greater  than  he  between  the  rising  and  the 
setting  sun. 

There  is  but  one  before  whom  he  meekly  bows  his  humbled 
head. 

Oh,  great  and  glorious  land,  teeming  producer  of  all  things, 
creator  of  Niagara,  and  inventor  of  Walt  Whitman, 

Erase  your  national  advertisements  of  liver  pads  and  cures 
for  rheumatism  from  your  public  monuments,  and 
inscribe  thereon  in  letters  of  gold  the  name  Judy. 

Unknown. 


\ 


i36  Burlesque 


SALAD 

O  COOL  in  the  summer  is  salad, 

And  warm  in  the  winter  is  love; 
And  a  poet  shall  sing  you  a  ballad 
Delicious  thereon  and  thereof. 
A  singer  am  I,  if  no  sinner, 

My  muse  has  a  marvellous  wing, 
And  I  willingly  worship  at  dinner 
The  Sirens  of  Spring. 

Take  endive — like  love  it  is  bitter, 

Take  beet — for  like  love  it  is  red; 
Crisp  leaf  of  the  lettuce  shall  glitter, 

And  cress  from  the  rivulet's  bed; 
Anchovies,  foam-born,  like  the  lady 

Whose  beauty  has  maddened  this  bard; 
And  olives,  from  groves  that  are  shady; 
'   And  eggs — ^boil  'em  hard. 

Mortimer  Collins. 

IF 

If  life  were  never  bitter. 

And  love  were  always  sweet, 
Then  who  would  care  to  borrow 
A  moral  from  to-morrow — 
If  Thames  would  always  glitter, 

And  joy  would  ne'er  retreat. 
If  life  were  never  bitter. 

And  love  were  always  sweet! 

If  care  were  not  the  waiter        i         , 

Behind  a  fellow's  chair. 
When  easy-going  sinners 
Sit  down  to  Eichmond  dinners, 
And  life's  swift  stream  flows  straighter. 

By  Jove,  it  would  be  rare. 
If  care  were  not  the  waiter 

Behind  a  fellow's  chair. 


The  Jabberwocky  of  Authors  437 

If  wit  were  always  radiant, 

And  wine  were  always  iced, 
And  bores  were  kicked  out  straightway 
Through  a  convenient  gateway ; 
Then  down  the  year's  long  gradient 

'Twere  sad  to  be  enticed. 
If  wit  were  always  radiant, 

And  wine  were  always  iced. 

Mortimer  Collins. 


THE  JABBEKWOCKY  OF  AUTHOKS 

'TwAS  gilbert.  The  kchesterton 
Did  locke  and  bennett  in  the  reed. 

All  meredith  was  the  nicholson, 
And  harrison  outqueed. 


Beware  the  see-enn-william,  son. 

The  londonjack  with  call  that's  wild. 

Beware  the  gertroo  datherton 
And  richardwashbumchild. 


He  took  his  brady  blade  in  hand; 

Long  time  the  partridge  foe  he  sought. 
Then  stood  a  time  by  the  oppenheim 

In  deep  mcnaughton  thought. 


In  Warwick  deeping  thought  he  stood — 
He  poised  on  edithwharton  brink; 

He  cried,  "  Ohbemardshaw !  I  could 
If  basilking  would  kink." 


Rexbeach!  rexbeach! — and  each  on  each 
O.  Henry's  mantles  ferber  fell. 

It  was  the  same'sif  henryjames 
Had  wally  eaton  well. 


438  Burlesque 

"And  hast  thou  writ  the  greatest  book? 

Come  to  thy  birmingham,  my  boy ! 
Oh,  beresf  ord  way !    Oh,  hohnan  day !  " 

He  kiplinged  in  his  joy. 

'Twas  gilbert.    The  kchesterton 
Did  locke  and  bennett  in  the  reed. 

All  meredith  was  the  nicholson, 
And  harrison  outqueed. 

Harry  Persons  Taber. 


THE  TOWN  OF  NICE 

MAY,  1874 

The  town  of  Nice !  the  town  of  Nice! 

Where  once  mosquitoes  buzzed  and  stung, 
And  never  gave  me  any  peace, 

The  whole  year  round  when  I  was  young ! 
Eternal  winter  chills  it  yet, 
It's  always  cold,  and  mostly  wet. 

Lord  Brougham  sate  on  the  rocky  brow, 
Which  looks  on  sea-girt  Cannes,  I  wis, 
But  wouldn't  like  to  sit  there  now, 
Unless  'twere  warmer  than  it  is; 
I  went  to  Cannes  the  other  day. 
But  found  it  much  too  damp  to  stay. 

The  mountains  look  on  Monaco, 
And  Monaco  looks  on  the  sea; 
And,  playing  there  some  hours  ago, 
I  meant  to  win  enormously; 

But,  tho'  my  need  of  coin  was  bad 
I  lost  the  little  that  I  had. 

Ye  have  the  southern  charges  yet — 

Where  is  the  southern  climate  gone? 
Of  two  such  blessings,  why  forget 
The  cheaper  and  the  seemlier  one? 
My  weekly  bill  my  wrath  inspires ; 
Think  ye  I  meant  to  pay  for  fires? 


The  Willow  Tree  439 

Why  should  I  stay?    No  worse  art  thou, 

My  country !  on  thy  genial  shore 
The  local  east-winds  whistle  now, 

The  local  fogs  spread  more  and  more; 
But  in  the  sunny  south,  the  weather 
Beats  all  you  know  of  put  together. 


I  cannot  eat — I  cannot  sleep — 

The  waves  are  not  so  blue  as  I; 
Indeed,  the  waters  of  the  deep 
Are  dirty-brown,  and  so's  the  sky: 
I  get  dyspepsia  when  I  dine — 
Oh,  dash  that  pint  of  country-wine ! 

Herman  C.  Merivale. 


THE  WILLOW-TKEE 

ANOTHER  VERSION 

Long  by  the  willow-trees 

Vainly  they  sought  her, 
Wild   rang   the   mother's   screams 

O'er  the  gray  water: 
Where  is  my  lovely  one? 

Where  is  my  daughter? 

"  Rouse  thee,  Sir  Constable — 

Rouse  thee  and  look; 
Fisherman,  bring  your  net. 

Boatman,  your  hook. 
Beat  in  the  lily-beds, 

Dive  in  the  brook!" 

Vainly  the  constable 

Shouted  and  called  her; 
Vainly  the  fisherman 

Beat  the  green  alder; 
Vainly  he  flung  the  net. 

Never  it  hauled  her! 


440  Burlesque 

Mother  beside  the  fire 
Sat,  her  nightcap  in; 

Father,  in  easy  chair, 
Gloomily  napping, 

When  at  the  window-sill 
Came  a  light  tapping! 

And  a  pale  countenance 

Looked  through  the  casement. 
Loud  beat  the  mother's  heart. 

Sick  with  amazement, 
And  at  the  vision  which 

Came  to  surprise  her. 
Shrieked  in  an  agony — 

"LorM  it's  Elizar!" 

Yes,  'twas  Elizabeth — 

Yes,  'twas  their  girl; 
Pale  was  her  cheek,  and  her 

Hair  out  of  curl. 
"  Mother,"  the  loving  one. 

Blushing  exclaimed, 
"  Let  not  your  innocent 

Lizzy  be  blamed. 

"  Yesterday,  going  to  Aunt 

Jones's  to  tea, 
Mother,  dear  mother,  I 

Forgot  the  door-key! 
And  as  the  night  was  cold 

And  the  way  steep, 
Mrs.  Jones  kept  me  to 

Breakfast  and  sleep." 

Whether  her  Pa  and  Ma 

Fully  believed  her. 
That  we  shall  never  know. 

Stem  they  received  her; 
And  for  the  work  of  that 

Cruel,  though  short,  night 
Sent  her  to  bed  without 

Tea  for  a  fortnight. 


A  Ballade  of  Ballade-Mongers  441 

MORAL 

Hey  diddle  diddlety. 

Cat  and  the  fiddlety, 
Maidens  of  England,  take  caution  by  she  I 

Let  love  and  suicide 

Never  tempt  you  aside, 
And  always  remember  to  take  the  door-key. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


A  BALLADE  OF  BALLADE-MONGERS 

AFTER  THE   MANNER  OF   MASTER   FRANQOIS   VILLON   OF  PARIS 

In  Ballades  things  always  contrive  to  get  lost. 

And  Echo  is  constantly  asking  where 
Are  last  year's  roses  and  last  year's  frost? 

And  where  are  the  fashions  we  used  to  wear? 
And  what  is  a  "  gentleman,"  and  what  is  a  "  player  "  ? 

Irrelevant  questions  I  like  to  ask: 
Can  you  reap  the  tret  as  well  as  the  tare? 

And  who  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask? 

What  has  become  of  the  ring  I  tossed 

In  the  lap  of  my  mistress  false  and  fair  ? 
Her  grave  is  green  and  her  tombstone  mossed; 

But  who  is  to  be  the  next  Lord  Mayor? 
And  where  is  King  William,  of  Leicester  Square? 

And  who  has  emptied  my  hunting  flask  ? 
And  who  is  possessed  of  Stella's  hair? 

And  who  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask? 

And  what  became  of  the  knee  I  crossed, 

And  the  rod  and  the  child  they  would  not  spare  ? 
And  what  will  a  dozen  herring  cost 

When  herring  are  sold  at  three  halfpence  a  pair? 
And  what  in  the  world  is  the  Golden  Stair? 

Did  Diogenes  die  in  a  tub  or  cask, 
Lite  Clarence,  for  love  of  liquor  there? 

And  who  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask? 


442  Burlesque 

ENVOY 

Poets,  your  readers  have  much  to  bear. 
For  Ballade-making  is  no  great  task. 

If  you  do  not  remember,  I  don't  much  care 
Who  was  the  man  in  the  Iron  Mask. 

Augustus  M.  Moore. 


I 


VIII 
BATHOS 

THE  CONFESSION 

There's  somewhat  on  my  breast,  father. 

There's  somewhat  on  my  breast ! 
The  livelong  day  I  sigh,  father, 

And  at  night  I  cannot  rest. 
I  cannot  take  my  rest,  father, 

Though  I  would  fain  do  so; 
A  weary  weight  oppresseth  me — 

This  weary  weight  of  woe  I 


'Tis  not  the  lack  of  gold,  father, 

Nor  want  of  worldly  gear; 
My  lands  are  broad,  and  fair  to  see, 

My  friends  are  kind  and  dear. 
My  kin  are  leal  and  true,  father. 

They  mourn  to  see  my  grief; 
But,  oh !  'tis  not  a  kinsman's  hand 

Can  give  my  heart  relief ! 


'Tis  not  that  Janet's  false,  father, 

'Tis  not  that  she's  unkind; 
Though  busy  flatterers  swarm  around, 

I  know  her  constant  mind. 
'Tis  not  her  coldness,  father, 

That  chills  my  laboring  breast; 
It's  that  confounded  cucumber 

I  ate,  and  can't  digest. 

Richard  Harris  Barham, 
443 


444  Bathos 


IF  YOU  HAVE  SEEN 

Good  reader!  if  you  e'er  have  seen, 

When  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  pillow, 
The  mermaids,  with  their  tresses  green. 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow : 
If  you  have  seen,  at  twilight  dim. 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore : 
If  you  have  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
The  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave. 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  green; — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this  and  more, 
God  bless  me !  what  a  deal  you've  seen ! 

Thomas  Moore. 


CIKCUMSTANCE 

THE  ORANGE 

It  ripen'd  by  the  river  banks. 
Where,  mask  and  moonlight  aiding. 

Dons  Bias  and  Juan  play  their  pranks, 
Dark  Donnas  serenading. 

By  Moorish  damsel  it  was  plucked. 

Beneath  the  golden  day  there ; 
By  swain  'twas  then  in  London  sucked — 

Who  flung  the  peel  away  there. 

He  could  not  know  in  Pimlico, 

As  little  she  in  Seville, 
That  /  should  reel  upon  that  peel. 

And — wish  them  at  the  devil! 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson, 


Optimism  446 


ELEGY 

The  jackals  prowl,  the  serpents  hiss 

In  what  was  once  Persepolis. 

Proud  Babylon  is  but  a  trace 

Upon  the  desert's  dusty  face.' 

The  topless  towers  of  Ilium 

Are  ashes.    Judah's  harp  is  dumb. 

The  fleets  of  Nineveh  and  Tyre 

Are  down  with  Davy  Jones,  Esquire 

And  all  the  oligarchies,  kings, 

And  potentates  that  ruled  these  things 

Are  gone !    But  cheer  up ;  don't  be  sad ; 

Think  what  a  lovely  time  they  had ! 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


OUR  TRAVELLER 

If  thou  would'st  stand  on  Etna's  burning  brow, 

With  smoke  above,  and  roaring  flame  below; 

And  gaze  adown  that  molten  gulf  reveal'd, 

Till  thy  soul  shudder'd  and  thy  senses  reel'd: 

If  thou  wouldst  beard  Niag'ra  in  his  pride, 

Or  stem  the  billows  of  Propontic  tide; 

Scale  all  alone  some  dizzy  Alpine  haut. 

And  shriek  "  Excelsior !  "  among  the  snow : 

Would'st  tempt  all  deaths,  all  dangers  that  may  be — 

Perils  by  land,  and  perils  on  the  sea; 

This  vast  round  world,  I  say,  if  thou  wouldst  view  it — 

Then,  why  the  dickens  don't  you  go  and  do  it? 

Henry  Cholmondeley-Pennell 


OPTIMISM 

Be  brave,  faint  heart, 

The  dough  shall  yet  be  cake; 

Be  strong,  weak  heart. 
The  butter  is  to  come. 
Some  cheerful  chance  will  right  the  apple-cart, 


M6  Bathos 

The  devious  pig  will  gain  the  lucky  mart. 
Loquacity  be  dumb, — 
Collapsed  the  fake. 
Be  brave,  faint  heart! 

Be  strong,  weak  heart. 

The  path  will  be  made  plain; 
Be  brave,  faint  heart. 

The  bore  will  crawl  away. 
The  upside  down  will  turn  to  right  side  up, 
The  stiffened  lip  compel  that  slipping  cup. 
The  doldrums  of  the  day 
Be  not  in  vain. 
Be  strong,  weak  heart! 

Be  brave,  faint  heart, 

The  jelly  means  to  jell;  ^ 

Be  strong,  weak  heart, 

The  hopes  are  in  the  malt. 
The  wrong  side  in  will  yet  turn  right  side  out, 
The  long-time  lost  come  down  yon  cormorant  spout. 
Life  still  is  worth  her  salt: 
What  ends  well's  well. 
Be  brave,   faint  heart! 

Newton  Mackintosh. 


THE  DECLAKATION 


'TwAS  late,  and  the  gay  company  was  gone, 
And  light  lay  soft  on  the  deserted  room 
From  alabaster  vases,  and  a  scent 
Of  orange-leaves,   and  sweet  verbena  came 
Through  the  unshutter'd  window  on  the  air. 
And  the  rich  pictures  with  their  dark  old  tints 
Hung  like  a  twilight  landscape, .  and  all  things 
Seem'd  hush'd  into  a  slumber.     Isabel, 
The  dark-eyed,  spiritual  Isabel 
Was  leaning  on  her  harp,  and  I  had  stay'd 
To  whisper  what  I  could  not  when  the  crowd 
Hung  on  her  look  like  worshipers.     I  knelt, 


He  Came  to  Pay  447 

And  with  the  fervor  of  a  lip  unused 
To  the  cool  breath  of  reason,  told  my  love. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  I  took  the  hand 
That  rested  on  the  strings,  and  press'd  a  kiss 
Upon  it  unforbidden — and  again 
Besought  her,  that  this  silent  evidence 
That  I  was  not  indifferent  to  her  heart. 
Might  have  the  seal  of  one  sweet  syllable. 
I  kiss'd  the  small  white  fingers  as  I  spoke, 
And  she  withdrew  them  gently,  and  upraised 
Her  forehead  from  its  resting-place,  and  look'd 
Earnestly  on  me — She  had  been  asleep! 

N,  P,  Willis, 


HE   CAME   TO  PAY 

The  editor  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands 

And  his  elbows  at  rest  on  his  knees; 
He  was  tired  of  the  ever-increasing  demands 

On  his  time,  and  he  panted  for  ease. 
The  clamor  for  copy  was  scorned  with  a  sneer. 

And  he  sighed  in  the  lowest  of  tones: 
"Won't  somebody  come  with  a  dollar  to  cheer 

The  heart  of  Emanuel  Jones  ? " 


Just  then  on  the  stairway  a  footstep  was  heard 

And  a  rap-a-tap  loud  at  the  door, 
And  the  flickering  hope  that  had  been  long  deferred 

Blazed  up  like  a  beacon  once  mpre; 
And  there  entered  a  man  with  a  cynical  smile 

That  was  fringed  with  a  stubble  of  red. 
Who  remarked,  as  he  tilted  a  sorry  old  tile 

To  the  back  of  an  average  head: 


"T  hare  come  here  to  pay" — Here  the  editor  cried; 

"You're  as  welcome  as  flowers  in  spring! 
Sit  down  in  this  easy  armchair  by  my  side. 

And  excuse  me  awhile  till  T  bring 


448  Bathos 

A  lemonade  dashed  with  a  little  old  wine 

And  a  dozen  cigars  of  the  best  .  .  . 
Ah!     Here  we  are!     This,  I  assure  you,  is  fine; 

Help  yourself,  most  desirable  guest." 

The  visitor  drank  with  a  relish',  and  smoked 

Till  his  face  wore  a  satisfied  glow, 
And  the  editor,  beaming  with  merriment,  joked 

In  a  joyous,  spontaneous  flow; 
And  then,  when  the  stock  of  refreshments  was  gone, 

His  guest  took  occasion  to  say. 
In  accents  distorted  somewhat  by  a  yawn, 

"My  errand  up  here  is  to  pay — ^^ 

But  the  generous  scribe,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand, 

Put  a  stop  to  the  speech  of  his  guest. 
And  brought  in  a  melon,  the  finest  the  land 

Ever  bore  on  its  generous  breast; 
And  the  visitor,  wearing  a  singular  grin, 

Seized  the  heaviest  half  of  the  fruit. 
And  the  juice,  as  it  ran  in  a  stream  from  his  chin. 

Washed  the  mud  of  the  pike  from  his  boot. 

Then,  mopping  his  face  on  a  favorite  sheet 

Which  the  scribe  had  laid  carefully  by, 
The  visitor  lazily  rose  to  his  feet 

With  the  dreariest  kind  of  a  sigh. 
And  he  said,  as  the  editor  sought  his  address. 

In  his  books  to  discover  his  due: 
"  I  came  here  to  pay — my  respects  to  the  press. 

And  to  borrow  a  dollar  of  you  I " 

Parmenas  Mix. 


The  Forlorn  One  449 


THE  FORLORN  ONE 

Ah!  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe, 
Lone  wanderer  of  the  dreary  night? 

Thy  gushing  tears  in  torrents  flow, 
Thy  bosom  pants  in  wild  affright! 

And  thou,  within  whose  iron  breast 
Those  frowns   austere  too  truly  tell. 

Mild  pity,  heaven-descended  guest, 
Hath  never,  never  deign'd  to  dwell. 

"  That  rude,  uncivil  touch  forego," 

Stern   despot  of  a  fleeting  hour! 
Nor  "  make  the  angels  weep "  to  know 

The  fond  "  fantastic  tricks  "  of  power  I 

Know'st  thou  not  "mercy  is  not  strained, 

But  droppeth  as  the  gentle  dew," 
And  while  it  blesseth  him  who  gain'd. 

It  blesseth  him  who  gave  it,  too? 

Say,  what  art  thou?  and  what  is  he. 

Pale  victim  of  despair  and  pain, 
Whose  streaming  eyes  and  bended  knee 

Sue  to  thee  thus — and  sue  in  vain? 

Cold  callous  man! — he  scorns  to  yield. 

Or  aught  relax  his  felon  gripe, 
But  answers,  "  Vm  Inspector  Field 

And  this  here  warment's  prigg'd  your  wipe." 

Richard  Harris  Barham. 


460  Bathos 


EUKAL  KAPTUKES 

'Tis  sweet  at  dewy  eve  to  rove 

When  softly  sighs  the  western  breeze, 

And   wandering  'mid  the  starlit  grove 
To  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  sneeze. 

'Tis  sweet  to  see  in  daisied  field  4 

The  flocks   and  herds  their  pleasure  take; 

But  sweeter  are  the  joys  they  yield 
In  tender  chop  and  juicy  steak. 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  murmurous  sound 
That  from   the   vocal  woods   doth  rise, 

To  mark  the  pigeons  wheeling  round, 
And  think  how  nice  they'd  be  in  pies. 

When  nightingales  pour  from  their  throats 
Their  gushing  melody,   'tis   sweet; 

Yet  sweeter  'tis  to  catch  the  notes 

That  issue  from  Threadneedle  Street. 

Unknown. 


A  FRAGMENT 

His  eye  was  stern  and  wild — his  cheek  was  pale  and  cold 
as  clay; 

Upon  his  tightened  lip  a  smile  of  fearful  meaning  lay. 

He  mused  awhile — ^but  not  in  doubt — no  trace  of  doubt 
was  there; 

It  was  the  steady  solemn  pause  of  resolute  despair. 

Once  more  he  looked  upon  the  scroll — once  more  its  words 
he  read — 

Then  calmly,  with  unflinching  hand,  its  folds  before  him 
spread. 

I  saw  him  bare  his  throat,  and  seize  the  blue-cold  gleam- 
ing steel, 

And  grimly  try  the  tempered  edge  he  was  so  soon  to  feel! 

A  sickness  crept  upon  my  heart,  and  dizzy  swam  my  head — 


The  Biter  Bit  451 

I  could   not   stir — I   could  not   cry — I  felt   benumbed   and 

dead; 
Black  icy  horrors   struck  me  dumb,    and  froze   my   senses 

o'er; 
I  closed   my  eyes   in  utter  fear,   and   strove  to  think  no 

more. 

Again    I    looked:    a   fearful    change    across    his    face    had 

passed — 
He  seemed   to   rave — on   cheek   and   lip   a   flaky  foam   was 

cast; 
He  raised  on  high  the  glittering  blade — then  first  I  found 

a  tongue — 
"  Hold,  madman !  stay  thy  frantic  deed ! "  I  cried,  and  forth 

I  sprung; 
He  heard   mc,  but  he  heeded  not;   one   glance   around  he 

gave, 
And  ere  I  could  arrest  his  hands,  he  had — begun  to  shave! 

Unknown. 


THE  BITER  BIT 

The  sun  is  in  the  sky,  mother,  the  flowers  are  springing 
fair, 

And  the  melody  of  woodland  birds  is  stirring  in  the  air; 
I    The  river,  smiling  to  the  sky,  glides  onward  to  the  sea, 
'    And  happiness  is  everywhere,  oh,  mother,  but  with  me! 

i   They  are  going  to  the  church,  mother — I  hear  the  marriage 

1  bell 

I    It  booms  along  the  upland — oh!  it  haunts  me  like  a  knell; 

He  leads  her  on  his  arm,  mother,  he  cheers  her  faltering 
step. 

And  closely  to  his  side  she  clings — she  does,  the  demirep! 

They  are  crossing  by  the  stile,  mother,  where  we  so  oft  have 

stood, 
The  stile  beside  the  shady  thorn,  at  the  corner  of  the  wood; 


452  Bathos 

And  the  boughs,  that  wont  to  murmur  back  the  words  that 

won  my  ear, 
Wave  their  silver  branches  o'er  him,  as  he  leads  his  bridal 

fere. 

He  will  pass  beside  the  stream,  mother,  where  first  my  hand 

he  pressed, 
By  the  meadow  where,  with  quivering  lip,  his  passion  he 

confessed ; 
And  down  the  hedgerows  where  we've  strayed  again  and  yet 

again ; 
But  he  will  not  think  of  me,  mother,  his  broken-hearted 

Jane ! 

He  said  that  T  was  proud,  mother,  that  I  looked  for  rank 

and  gold. 
He  said  I  did  not  love  him — he  said  my  words  were  cold; 
He  said  I  kept  him  off  and  on,  in  hopes  of  higher  game — 
And  it  may  be  that  I  did,  mother;  but  who  hasn't  done  the 

same. 

I  did  not  know  my  heart,  mother — I  know  it  now  too  late; 
I  thought  that  I  without  a  pang  could  wed  some  nobler 

mate; 
But  no  nobler  suitor  sought  me — and  he  has  taken  wing, 
And  my  heart  is  gone,  and  I  am  left  a  lone  and  blighted 

thing. 

You  may  lay  me  in  my  bed,  mother — my  head  is  throbbing 

sore ; 
And,  mother,  prithee,  let  the  sheets  be  duly  aired  before; 
And,  if  you'd  please,  my  mother  dear,  your  poor  desponding 

child, 
Draw  me  a  pot  of  beer,  mother,  and,  mother,  draw  it  mild! 

William  E.  Aytoun. 


Comfort  in  Affliction  453 


COMZTORT   IN   AFFLICTION 

"  Wherefore  starts  my  bosom's  lord? 

Why  this  anguish  in  thine  eye? 
Oh,  it  seems  as  thy  heart's  chord 

Had  broken  with  that  sigh! 

"Rest  thee,  my  dear  lord,  I  pray. 
Rest  thee  on  my  bosom  now! 

And  let  me  wipe  the  dews  away. 
Are  gathering  on  thy  brow. 

"  There,  again !  that  fevered  start ! 

What,  love!  husband!  is  thy  pain? 
There  is  a  sorrow  in  thy  heart, 

A  weight  upon  thy  brain! 

"Nay,  nay,  that  sickly  smile  can  ne'er 
Deceive   affection's   searching  eye; 

'Tis  a  wife's  duty,  love,  to  share 
Her  husband's  agony. 

"  Since  the  dawn  began  to  peep. 
Have  I  lain  with  stifled  breath; 

Heard  thee  moaning  in  thy  sleep. 
As  thou  wert  at  grips  with  death. 

"  Oh,  what  joy  it  was  to  see 

My  gentle  lord  once  more  awake! 

Tell  me,  what  is  amiss  with  thee? 
Speak,  or  my  heart  will  break ! " 

"Mary,  thou  ^ngel  of  my  life, 

Thou  ever  good  and  kind; 
'Tis  not,  believe  me,  my  dear  wife, 

The  anguish  of  the  mind! 

"  It  is  not  in  my  bosom,  dear. 
No,  nor  in  my  brain,  in  sooth; 

But,  Mary,  oh,  I  feel  it  here. 
Here  in  my  wisdom  tooth! 


454  Bathos 

"  Then  give,—- oh,  first,  best  antidote, — 

Sweet  partner  of  my  bed! 
Give  me  thy  flannel  petticoat 

To  wrap  around  my  head ! " 

William  E.  Aytoun. 


THE  HUSBAND'S  PETITION 

Come  hither,  my  heart's  darling, 

Come,  sit  upon  my  knee. 
And  listen,  while  I  whisper, 

A  boon  I  ask  of  thee. 
You  need  not  pull  my  whiskers 

So  amorously,  my  dove; 
'Tis  something  quite  apart  from 

The  gentle  cares  of  love. 


I  feel  a  bitter  craving — 

A  dark  and  deep  desire. 
That  glows  beneath  my  bosom 

Like  coals  of  kindled  fire. 
The  passion  of  the  nightingale, 

When   singing  to  the   rose. 
Is  feebler  than  the  agony 

That  murders  my  repose! 


Nay,  dearest!  do  not  doubt  me, 

Though  madly  thus  I  speak — 
I  feel  thy  arms  about  me. 

Thy  tresses  on  my  cheek: 
I  know  the  sweet  devotion 

That  links  thy  heart  with  mine — 
I  know   my   soul's   emotion 

Is  doubly  felt  by  thine: 


The  Husband's  Petition  455 

And  deem  not  that  a  shadow 

Hath  fallen  across  my  love: 
No,  sweet,  my  love  is  shadowless, 

As  yonder  heaven  above. 
These  little   taper  fingers — 

Ah!   Jane^  how  white  they  be! — 
Can  well  supply  the  cruel  want 

That  almost  maddens  me. 

Thou  wilt  not  sure  deny  me 

My  first  and  fond  request; 
I  pray   thee,  by   the  memory 

Of  all  we  cherish  best — 
By  all  the  dear  remembrance 

Of  those  delicious  days, 
When,  hand  in  hand,  we  wandered 

Along  the  summer  braes: 

By  all  we  felt,  unspoken. 

When  'neath  the  early  moon, 
We  sat  beside  the  rivulet, 

In  the  leafy  month  of  June; 
And  by  the  broken  whisper. 

That  fell  upon  my  ear, 
More  sweet  than  angel-music, 

When  first  I  woo'd  thee,   dear! 

By  that  great  vow  which  bound  thee 

Forever  to  my  side. 
And  by  the  ring  that  made  thee 

My  darling  and  my  bride! 
Thou   wilt  not  fail  nor  falter. 

But  bend  thee  to  the  task — 

A   BOILED   sheep's    HEAD   ON    SuNDAY 

Is  all  the  boon  I  ask. 

William  E.  Aytoun. 


456  Bathos 

LINES  WRITTEN  AFTER  A  BATTLE 

BY   AN   ASSISTANT   SURGEON    OF   THE   NINETEENTH    NANKEENS 

Stiff  are  the  warrior's  muscles, 

CongeaFd,   alas!   his  chyle; 
No  more  in  hostile  tussles 

Will  he  excite  his  bile. 
Dry  is  the  epidermis, 

A  vein  no  longer  bleeds— 
And  the  communis  vermis 

Upon  the  warrior  feeds. 


Compress'd,  alas!  the  thorax, 

That  throbbed  with  joy  or  pain; 
Not  e'en  a  dose  of  borax 

Could  make  it  throb  again. 
Dried   up   the   warrior's   throat  is, 

All  shatter'd  too,  his  head: 
Still  is  the  epiglottis — 

The  warrior  is  dead. 

Unknown. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED    TO    **    ****    *****    ON    THE    29TH    OF    SEPTEMBER, 


WHEN    WE    PARTED    FOR    THE    LAST    TIME 


I  HAVE  watch'd  thee  with  rapture,  and  dwelt  on  thy  charms. 
As  link'd  in  Love's  fetters  we  wander'd  each  day; 

And  each  night  I  have  sought  a  new  life  in  thy  arms, 
And  sigh'd  that  our  union  could  last  not  for  aye. 


But  thy  life  now  depends  on  a  frail  silken  thread. 
Which  I  even  by  kindness  may  cruelly  sever. 

And  I  look  to  the  moment  of  parting  with  dread. 
For  I  feel  that  in  parting  I  lose  thee  forever. 


The  Imaginative  Crisis  457 

Sole  being  that  cherish'd  my  poor  troubled  heart! 

Thou  know'st  all  its  secrets — each  joy  and  each  grief; 
And  in  sharing  them  all  thou  did'st  ever  impart 

To  its  sorrows  a  gentle  and  soothing  relief. 

The  last  of  a  long  and  affectionate  race, 
As  thy  days  are  declining  I  love  thee  the  more, 

For  I  feel  that  thy  loss  I  can  never  replace — 

That  thy  death  will  but  leave  me  to  weep  and  deplore. 

Unchanged,  thou  shalt  live  in  the  mem'ry  of  years, 
I   cannot — I   will   not — forget   what   thou   wert! 

While  the  thoughts  of  thy  love  as  they  call  forth  my  tears, 
In  fancy  will  wash  thee  once  more — my  last  shirt. 

Unknown. 


THE  IMAGINATIVE  CRISIS 

Oh,  solitude!  thou  wonder-working  fay, 
Come  nurse  my  feeble  fancy  in  your  arms, 
Though  T,  and  thee,  and  fancy  town-pent  lay. 
Come,  call  around,  a  world  of  country  charms. 
Let  all  this   room,   these  walls  dissolve  away, 
And  bring  me  Surrey's  fields  to  take  their  place: 
This  floor  be  grass,  and  draughts  as  breezes  play; 
Yon  curtains  trees,  to  wave  in  summer's  face; 
My  ceiling,   sky;   my  water-jug  a  stream; 
My  bed,  a  bank,  on  which  to  muse  and  dream. 
The  spell  is  wrought:  imagination  swells 
My  sleeping-room  to  hills,  and  woods,  and  dells! 
I  walk  abroad,  for  naught  my  footsteps  hinder. 
And  fling  my  arms.     Oh!  mi!  I've  broke  the  winder! 

Unknown. 


I 


IX 
PARODY 

THE  HIGHER  PANTHEISM  IN  A  NUTSHELL 

One,  who  is  not,  we  see;  but  one,  whom  we  see  not,  is; 
Surely,  this  is  not  that;  but  that  is  assuredly  this. 

What,  and  wherefore,  and  whence :  for  under  is  over  and 
under ;  m 

If  thunder  could  be  without  lightning,  lightning  could  be 
without  thunder. 

Doubt  is  faith  in  the  main;  but  faith,  on  the  whole,  is 
doubt ; 

We  cannot  believe  by  proof;  but  could  we  believe  with- 
out? 

Why,   and  whither,   and  how?  for  barley   and  rye  are  not 

clover; 
Neither  are  straight  lines  curves;  yet  over  is  under  and 

over. 

One  and  two  are  not  one;  but  one  and  nothing  is  two; 
Truth  can  hardly  be  false,  if  falsehood  cannot  be  true. 


Parallels  all  things  are;  yet  many  of  these  are  askew; 
You-  are  certainly  I;  but  certainly  I  am  not  you. 

One,  whom  we  see  not,  is;  and  one,  who  is  not,  we  see; 
Fiddle,  we  know,  is  diddle;  and  diddle,  we  take  it,  is  dee. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 
458 


Nephelidia  469 

NEPHELIDIA 

From  the  depth  of  the  dreamy  decline  of  the  dawn  through 
a  notable  nimbus  of  nebulous  moonshine, 
Pallid  and  pink  as  the  palm  of  the  flag-flower  that  flickers 
with  fear  of  the  flies  as  they  float, 
Are  they  looks  of  our  lovers  that  lustrously  lean  from  a 
marvel  of  mystic  miraculous  moonshine. 
These  that  we  feel  in  the  blood  of  our  blushes  that  thicken 
and  threaten  with  throbs  through  the  throat? 
Thicken  and  thrill  as  a  theatre  thronged  at  appeal  of  an 
actor's  appalled   agitation, 
Fainter  with  fear  of  the  fires  of  the  future  than  pale 
with  the  promise  of  pride  in  the  past; 
Flushed  with  the  famishing  fulness  of  fever  that  reddens 
with  radiance  of  rathe  recreation. 
Gaunt  as  the  ghastliest  of  glimpses  that  gleam  through 
the  gloom  of  the  gloaming  when  ghosts  go  aghast? 
Nay,  for  the  nick  of  the  tick  of  the  time  is  a  tremulous 
touch  on  the  temples  of  terror, 
Strained  as  the  sinews  yet  strenuous  with  strife  of  the 
dead  who  is  dumb  as  the  dust-heaps  of  death; 
Surely  no  soul  is  it,  sweet  as  the  spasm  of  erotic  emotional 
exquisite  error. 
Bathed  in  the  balms  of  beatified  bliss,  beatific  itself  by 
beatitude's  breath. 
Surely  no  spirit  or  sense  of  a  soul  that  was  soft  to  the  spirit 
and  soul  of  our  senses 
Sweetens  the  stress  of  surprising  suspicion  that  sobs  in 
the  semblance  and  sound  of  a  sigh; 
I  Only  this  oracle   opens   Olympian,   in  mystical  moods   and 
f  triangular  tenses, — 

"Life  is  the  lust  of  a  lamp  for  the  light  that  is  dark 
^  till  the  dawn  of  the  day  when  we  die." 

f  Mild  is  the  mirk  and  monotonous  music  of  memory,  melod- 
iously mute  as  it  may  be, 
While  the  hope  in  the  heart  of  a  hero  is  bruised  by  the 
breach  of  men's   rapiers,   resigned  to   the   rod; 
Made  meek  as  a  mother  whose  bosom-beats  bound  with  the 
bliss-bringing  bulk  of  a  balm-breathing  baby, 


460  Parody 

As   they  grope  through   the   grave-yard   of   creeds,   under 
skies  growing  green  at  a  groan  for  the  grimness  of 
God. 
Blank  is  the  book  of  his  bounty  beholden  of  old,  and  its 
binding  is  blacker  than  bluer: 
Out  of  blue  into  black  is  the  scheme   of  the  skies,  and 
their  dews  are  the  wine  of  the  bloodshed  of  things: 
Till  the  darkling  desire  of  delight  shall  be  free  as  a  fawn 
that  is  freed  from  the  fangs  that  pursue  her. 
Till  the  heart-beats  of  hell  shall   be   hushed  by  a  hymn 
from  the  hunt  that  has  harried  the  kennel  of  kings. 
Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 


UP  THE  SPOUT 


Hi!     Just  you  drop  that!     Stop,  I  say!  2 

^irk  work,  think  slink  off,  twist  friend's  wrist? 

Where  that  spined  sand's  lined  band's  the  bay — 
Lined  blind  with  true  sea's  blue,  as  due — 

Promising — not  to  pay? 


For  the  sea's  debt  leaves  wet  the  sand; 

Burst  worst  fate's  weight's  in   one  burst  gun' 
A  man's  own  yacht,   blown — What?  off  land? 

Tack  back,  or  veer  round  here,  then — queer! 
Beef  points,   though — understand? 


ra 

Fm  blest  if  I  do.     Sigh?  be  blowed! 

Love's  doves  make  break  life's  ropes,  eh?    Tropes! 
Faith's  brig,  baulked,  sides  caulked,  rides  at  road; 

Hope's  gropes  befogged,  storm-dogged  and  bogged— 
Clogged,  water-logged,  her  load! 


I 


Up  the  Spout  461 

IV 

! 

Stowed,  by  Jove,  right  and  tight,  away. 

No  show  now  how  best  plough  sea's  brow. 
Wrinkling — breeze  quick,  tease  thick,  ere  day, 

Clear  sheer  wave's  sheen  of  green,  I  mean. 
With   twinkling   wrinkles — eh? 


Sea  sprinkles  wrinkles,   tinkles  light 

Shells'  bells^boy's  joys  that  hap  to  snap! 

It's  just  sea's  fun,  breeze  done,  to  spite 

God's  rods  that  scourge  her  surge,  I'd  urge — 

Not  proper,   is   it — quite? 


VI 

See,  fore  and  aft,  life's  craft  undone! 

Crank  plank,  split  spritsail — mark,  sea's  lark! 
That  gray  cold  sea's  old  sprees,  begun 

When  men  lay  dark  i'  the  ark,  no  spark, 
All  water — ^just  God's  fun! 


vn 

Not  bright,  at  best,  his  jest  to  these 

Seemed — screamed,  shrieked,  wreaked  on  kin  for  sin! 
When  for  mirth's  yell  earth's  knell  seemed  please 

Some  dumb  new  grim  great  whim  in  him 
Made  Jews  take  chalk  for  cheese. 


vm 

Could  God's  rods  bruise  God's  Jews?    Their  jowls 
Bobbed,  sobbed,  gaped,  aped,  the  plaice  in  face! 

None  heard,  'tis  odds,  his — God's — folk's  howls. 
Now,  how  must  I  apply,  to  try 

This  hookiest-beaked  of  owls? 


4^2  Parody 

VL 

Well,  I  suppose  God  knows — I  don't. 

Time's  crimes  mark  dark  men's  types,  in  stripes 
Broad  as  fen's  lands  men's  hands  were  wont 

Leave  grieve  unploughed,  though  proud  and  loud 
With  birds'  words — No!  he  won't! 

X 

One  never  should  think  good  impossible. 

Eh?  say  I'd  hide  this  Jew's  oil's  cruse — 
His  shop  might  hold  bright  gold,  engrossible 

By  spy — spring's  air  takes  there  no  care 
To  wave  the  heath-flower's  glossy  bell! 

zi 

But  gold  bells  chime  in  time  there,  coined — 

Gold !     Old  Sphinx  winks  there — "  Read  my  screed !  " 

Doctrine  Jews  learn,  use,  burn  for,  joined 

(Through     new    craft's     stealth)     with     health     and 
wealth — 

At  once  all  three  purloined! 

xn 

I  rose  with  dawn,  to  pawn,  no  doubt, 

(Miss  this  chance,  glance  untried  aside?) 

John's  shirt,  my — no!     Ay,   so — the  lout! 
Let  yet  the  door  gape,  store  on  floor 

And  not  a  soul  about? 

xm 

"• 

Such  men  lay  traps,  perhaps — and  I'm 
Weak — meek — mild — child  of  woe,  you  know! 

But  theft,  I  doubt,  my  lout  calls  crime. 

Shrink?    Think!    Love's  dawn  in  pawn — you  spawn 

Of  Jewry!    Just  in  time! 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 


Lucy  Lake  463 


IN  IMMEMORIAM 

We  seek  to  know,  and  knowing  seek; 
We  seek,  we  know,  and  every  sense 
Is  trembling  with  the  great  Intense 
And  vibrating  to  what  we  speak. 

We  ask  too  much,  we  seek  too  oft, 
We  know  enough,   and   should   no   more; 
And  yet  we  skim  through   Fancy's  lore 
And  look  to  earth  and  not  aloft. 

A  something  comes  from  out  the  gloom; 

I  know  it  not,  nor  seek  to  know; 

I  only  see  it  swell  and  grow, 

And  more  than  this  world  would  presume. 

Meseems,  a  circling  void  I  fill, 
And  I,  unchanged  where  all  is  changed; 
It  seems  unreal;  I  own  it  strange, 
Yet  nurse  the  thoughts  I  cannot  kill. 

I  hear  the  ocean's  surging  tide. 
Raise  quiring  on  its  carol-tune; 
I  watch  the  golden-sickled  moon, 
And  clearer  voices  call  beside. 

O  Sea!  whose  ancient  ripples  lie 
On  red-ribbed  sands  where  seaweeds  shone; 
O  Moon!  whose  golden  sickle's  gone; 
O  Voices  all!  like  ye  I  die! 

Cuthbert  Bede. 


LUCY  LAKE 

Poor  Lucy  Lake  was  overgrown, 
But  somewhat  underbrained. 

She  did  not  know  enough,  I  own, 
To  go  in  when  it  rained. 


464  Parody 

Yet  Lucy  was  constrained  to  go; 

Green    bedding, — you   infer. 
Few  people  knew  she  died,  but  oh, 

The  difference  to  her! 

Newton  Mackintosh. 


THE   COCK   AND   THE   BULL 

You  see  this  pebble-stone?     It's  a  thing  I  bought 

Of  a  bit  of  a  chit  of  a  boy  i'  the  mid  o'  the  day — 

I  like  to  dock  the  smaller  parts-o'-speech, 

As  we  curtail  the  already  cur-tailed  cur 

(You   catch  the  paronomasia,  play  'po'  words?) 

Did,  rather,  i'  the  pre-Landseerian  days. 

Well,  to  my  muttons.     I  purchased  the  concern, 

And  clapt_it  i'  my  poke,  having  given  for  same 

By  way  o'  chop,  swop,  barter  or  exchange — 

"  Chop  "  was  my  snickering  dandiprat's  own  term — 

One  shilling  and  fourpence,  current  coin  o'  the  realm. 

0-n-e  one  and  f-o-u-r  four 

Pence,  one  and  fourpence — you  are  with  me,  sir? — 

What  hour  it  skills  not:  ten  or  eleven  o'  the  clock. 

One  day  (and  what  a  roaring  day  it  was 

Go  shop  or  sight-see — bar  a  spit  o'  rain!) 

In  February,  eighteen  sixty  nine, 

Alexandrina  Victoria,   Fidei, 

Hm — hm — how  runs  the  jargon?  being  on  the  throne. 

Such,  sir,  are  all  the  facts,  succinctly  put, 

The  basis  or  substratum — what  you  will — 

Of  the  impending  eighty  thousand  lines. 

"  Not  much  in  'em  either,"  quoth  perhaps  simple  Hodge. 

But  there's  a  superstructure.    Wait  a  bit. 

Mark  first  the  rationale  of  the  thing: 

Hear  logic  rivel  and  levigate  the  deed. 

That  shilling — and  for  matter  o'  that,  the  pence — 

I  had  o'  course  upo'  me — wi'  me  say — 

{Mecum's  the  Latin,  make  a  note  o'  that) 

When  I  popp'd  pen  i'  stand,  scratched  ear,  wiped  snout. 


The  Cock  and  the  Bull  465 

(Let  everybody   wipe  his   own   himself) 

Sniff'd — tch! — at  snuffbox;   tumbled  up,  he-heed, 

Haw-haw'd   (not  he-haw'd,  that's  another  guess  thing) : 

Then  iumbled  at,  and  stumbled  out  of,  door, 

I  shoved   the  timber  ope  wi'  my  omoplat; 

And  in  vestihulo,  i'  the  lobby  to-wit, 

(lacobi   Facciolati's  rendering,  sir,) 

Donned   galh'gaskins,    antigropeloes, 

And  so  forth;  and,  complete  with  hat  and  gloves, 

One  on  and  one  a-dangle  i'  in  my  hand. 

And  ombrifuge  (Lord  love  you!)  cas  o'  rain, 

I  flopped  forth,  'sbuddikins!   on  my  own  ten  toes, 

(I  do  assure  you  there  be  ten  of  them) 

And  went  clump-clumping  up  hill  and  down  dale 

To  find  myself  o'  the  sudden  i'  front  o'  the  boy. 

Put  case  I  hadn't  'em  on  me,  could  I  ha'  bought 

This   sort-o'-kind-o'-what-you-might-call-toy, 

This  pebble-thing,  o'  the  boy-thing?     Q.  E.  D. 

That's  proven  without  aid  for  mumping  Pope, 

Sleek  porporate  or  bloated   cardinal. 

(Isn't  it,  old  Fatchops?    You're  in  Euclid  now.) 

So,  having  the  shilling — having  i'  fact  a  lot — 

And  pence  and  halfpence,  ever  so  many  o'  them, 

I  purchased,  as  I  think  I  said  before. 

The  pebble  (lapis,  lapidis,  di,  dem,  de — 

What  nouns  'crease  short  i'  the  genitive,  Fatchops,  eh?) 

O,  the  boy,  a  bare-legg'd  beggarly  son  of  a  gun. 

For  one-and-fourpence.    Here  we  are  again. 

Now  Law  steps  in,  bewigged,  voluminous-jaw'd; 

Investigates   and   re-investigates. 

Was  the  transaction  illegal?    Law  shakes  head. 

Perpend,  sir,  all  the  bearings  of  the  case. 

At  first  the  coin  was  mine,  the  chattel  his. 

But  now  (by  virtue  of  the  said  exchange 

And  barter)   vice  versa  all  the  coin, 

Rer  juris  operationem,  vests 

I'  the  boy  and  his  assigns  till  ding  o'  doom; 

In  scecula  sceculo-o-orum ; 

(I  think  I  hear  the  Abate  mouth  out  that.) 

To  have  and  hold  the  same  to  him  and  them  .  .  . 


466  Parody 

Confer  some  idiot  on  Conveyancing. 

Whereas   the  pebble   and   every  part   thereof. 

And  all  that  appertaineth  thereunto, 

Quodcunque   pertinet   ad  em  rem, 

(I  fancy,  sir,  my  Latin's  rather  pat) 

Or  shall,  will,  may,  might,  can,  could,  would,  or  should, 

Subaudi  ccetera — clap  we  to  the  close — 

For  what's  the  good  of  law  in  such  a  case  o'  the  kind 

Is  mine  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 

This  settled,  I  resume  the  thread  o'  the  tale. 

Now  for  a  touch  o'  the  vendor's  quality. 

He  says  a  gen'lman  bought  a  pebble  of  him, 

(This  pebble  i'  sooth,  sir,  which  I  hold  i'  my  hand) — 

And  paid  for  't,  like  a  gen'lman,  on  the  nail. 

"Did  I  o'ercharge  him   a  ha'penny?     Devil   a  bit. 

Fiddlepin's  end!     Get  out,  you  blazing  ass! 

Gabble  o'  the  goose.     Don't  bugaboo-baby  me! 

Go  double  or  quits?     Yah!  tittup!  what's  the  odds?" 

— There's  the  transaction  viewed  in  the  vendor's  light. 

Next  ask  that  durapled  hag,  stood  snuffling  by. 

With  her  three  frowsy  blowsy  brats  o'  babes, 

The  scum  o'  the  Kennel,  cream  o'  the  filth-heap — Faugh! 

Aie,  aie,   aie,  aie!    oroTOTOTordif 

('Stead  which  we  blurt  out,  Hoighty  toighty  now) — 

And  the  baker  and  candlestick  maker,  and  Jack  and  Gil 

Blear'd  Goody  this  and  queasy  Gaffer  that. 

Ask   the   Schoolmaster,   Take   Schoolmaster  first. 

He  saw  a  gentleman  purchase  of  a  lad 

A  stone,  and  pay  for  it  rite  on  the  square, 

And  carry  it  off  per  saltum,  jauntily 

Propria  quce  marihus,  gentleman's   property  now 

(Agreeable  to  the  law  explained  above). 

In  proprium  usum,  for  his  private  ends. 

The  boy  he  chucked  a  brown  i'  the  air,  and  bit 

I'  the  face  the  shilling;  heaved  a  thumping  stone 

At  a  lean  hen  that  ran  cluck-clucking  by, 

(And  hit  her,  dead  as  nail  i'  post  o'  door,) 

Then   ahiit — What's  the   Ciceronian   phrase? 

Excessit,  evasit,  erupit — off  slogs  boy; 


Ballad  467 

OflF  like  bird,  avi  similis — (you  observed 

The  dative?     Pretty  i'  the  Mantuan!) — Anglice 

Off  in  three  flea  skips.     Hactenus,  so  far, 

So  good,  lam  bene.     Bene,  satis,  male, — 

Where  was  I  with  my  trope  'bout  one  in  a  quag? 

I  did  once  hitch  the  Syntax  into  verse 

Verhum  personale,  a  verb   personal. 

Concordat — ay,  "  agrees,"  old   Fatchops — cum 

Nominativo,  with  its  nominative, 

Genere,  i'  point  of  gender,  numero, 

O'  number,  et  persona,  and  po^gon.     Vt, 

Instance:  Sol  ruit,  down  flops  sun,  et  and. 

Monies  umhrantur,  out  flounce  mountains.     Pah! 

Excuse  me,  sir,  I  think  I'm  going  mad. 

You  see  the  trick  on't,  though,  and  can  yourself 

Continue  the  discourse  ad  libitum. 

It  takes  up  about  eighty  thousand  lines, 

A  thing  imagination  boggles  at; 

And  might,  odds-bobs,  sir!  in  judicious  hands 

Extend  from  here  to  Mesopotamy. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


BALLAD 

The  auld  wife  sat  at  her  ivied  door, 

{Butler  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

A  thing  she  had  frequently  done  before; 
And  her  spectacles  lay  on  her  apron'd  knees. 

The  piper  he  piped  on  the  hilltop  high, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

Till  the  cow  said  "I  die,"  and  the  goose  asked  "Why?" 
And  the  dog  said  nothing,  but  search'd  for  fleas. 

The  farmer  he  strode  through  the  square  farmyard; 

{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
His  last  brew  of  ale  was  a  trifle  hard — 

The  connection  of  which  the  plot  one  sees. 


468  Parody 

The  farmer's  daughter  hath  frank  blue  eyes; 

(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
She  hears  the  rooks  caw  in  the  windy  skies, 

As  she  sits  at  her  lattice  and  shells  her  peas. 

The  farmer's  daughter  hath  ripe  red  lips; 

(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
If  you  try  to  approach  her,  away  she  skips 

Over  tables  and  chairs  with  apparent  ease. 

The  farmer's  daughter  "hath  soft  brown  hair; 

(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
And  1  met  with  a  ballad,  I  can't  say  where, 

Which  wholly  consisted  of  lines  like  these. 

PART   n 

She  sat  with  her  hands  'neath  her  dimpled  cheeks, 
(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

And  spake  not  a  word.    While  a  lady  speaks 

There  is  hope,  but  sh^  didn't  even   sneeze.         , 

She  sat,  with  her  hands  'neath  her  crimson  cheeks; 

(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
She  gave  up  mending  her  father's  breeks. 

And  let  the  cat  roll  in  her  new  chemise. 

She  sat  with  her  hands  'neath  her  burning  cheeks, 
(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

And  gazed  at  the  piper  for  thirteen  weeks; 
Then  she  follow'd  him  o'er  the  misty  leas. 

Her  sheep  follow'd  her,  as  their  tails  did  them, 
(Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

And  this  song  is  consider'd  a  perfect  gem. 
And  as  to  the  meaning,  it's  what  you  please. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


Disaster  469 


DISASTER 

'TwAS  ever  thus  from   childhood's  hour! 

My   fondest  hopes   would   not   decay; 
I   never  loved   a  tree   or   flower 

Which    was    the    first    to    fade    away! 
The  garden,  where  I  used  to  delve 

Short-frock'd,  still  yields  me  pinks  in  plenty 
The  pear-tree  that  T  climbed  at  twelve 

I  see  still  blossoming,  at  twenty. 


I  never  nursed  a  dear  gazelle; 

But  I  was  given  a  parroquet — 
(How  I  did  nurse  him   if  unwell!) 

He's   imbecile,  but  lingers  yet. 
He's  green,  with  an  enchanting  tuft; 

He  melts  me  with  his  small  black  eye; 
He'd   look   inimitable   stuffed, 

And  knows  it — but  he  will  not  die! 


I  had  a  kitten — I  was  rich 

In  pets — but  all  too  soon  my  kitten 
Became  a  full-sized   cat,   by   which 

IVe  more  than  once  been  scratched  and  bitten 
And  when  for  sleep  her  limbs  she  curl'd 

One  day  beside  her   untouch'd   plateful, 
And  glided  calmly  from  the  world, 

I  freely  own  that  I  was  grateful. 


And  then  I  bought  a  dog — a  queen! 

Ah,   Tiny,   dear   departing   pug! 
She  lives,  but  she  is  past  sixteen 

And  scarce  can  crawl  across  the  rug. 
I  loved  her  beautiful  and  kind; 

Delighted   in  her  pert  bow-wow; 
But  now  she  snaps  if  you  don't  mind; 

'Twere  lunacy  to  love  her  now. 


4}70  Parody 

I  used  to  think,  should  e'er  mishap 

Betide  my  crumple-visaged  Ti, 
In  shape  of  prowling  thief,  or  trap, 

Or  coarse  bull-terrier — I  should  die. 
But  ah!  disasters  have  their  use, 

And  life  might  e'en  be  too  sunshiny; 
Nor  would  T  make  myself  a  goose, 

If  some  big  dog  should  swallow  Tiny. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


WORDSWORTHIAN  REMINISCENCE 

I  WALKED  and  came  upon  a  picket  fence, 
And  every  picket  went  straight  up  and  down. 
And  all  at  even  intervals  were  placed,         ^ 
All  painted  green,  all  pointed  at  the  top, 
And  every  one  inextricably  nailed 
Unto  two  several  cross-beams,  which  did  go, 
Not  as  the  pickets,  but  quite  otherwise, 
And  they  two  crossed,  but  back  of  all  were  posts. 

O  beauteous  picket  fence,  can  I  not  draw 
Instruction  from  thee?    Yea,  for  thou  dost  teach. 
That  even  as  the  pickets  are  made  fast 
To  that  which  seems  all  at  cross  purposes, 
So  are  our  human  lives,  to  the  Divine, 
But,  oh !  not  purposeless,   for  even  as  they 
Do  keep  stray  cows  from  trespass,  we,  no  doubt, 
Together  guard  some  plan   of  Deity. 

Thus  did  I  moralise.     And  from  the  beams 

And  pickets  drew  a  lesson  to  myself, — 

But  where  the  posts  came  in,  I  could  not  tell. 

Unknown. 


f 


The  Messed  Damozel  471 


INSPECT  US 

Out  of  the  clothes  that  cover  me 
Tight  as  the  skin  is  on  the  grape, 

I  thank  whatever  gods  may  be 
For  my  unconquerable  shape. 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  bone  and  steel 
I  have  not  whined  nor  cried  aloud; 

Whatever  else  I  may  conceal, 

I  show  my  thoughts  unshamed  and  proud. 

The  forms  of  other  actorines 

I  put  away  into  the  shade; 
All  of  them  flossy  near-blondines 

Find   and  shall  find  me   unafraid. 

It  matters  not  how.  straight  the  tape, 
How  cold  the  weather  is,  or  warm — 

I  am  the  mistress  of  my  shape — 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  form. 

Edith  Daniell 


THE  MESSED  DAMOZEL 

AT  THE  CUBIST  EXHIBITION 

The  Messed  Damozel  leaned  out 
From  the  gold  cube  of  Heav'n; 

There  were  three  cubes  within  her  hands, 
And  the  cubes  in  her  hair  were  seven; 

I  looked,  and  looked,  and  looked,  and  looked- 
I  could  not  see  her,  even. 

Her  robe,  a  cube  from  clasp  to  hem. 

Was  moderately  clear; 
Methought  I  saw  two  cubic  eyes. 

When  I  had  looked   a  year; 
But  when  I  turned  to  tell  the  world. 

Those  eyes   did  disappear! 


472  Parody 

It  was  the  rampart  of  some  house 

That  she  was  standing  on ; 
That  much,  at  least,   was  plain   to  me 

As   her  1  gazed   upon ; 
But  even  as  1  gazed,  alas! 

The  rampart,  too,  was  gone! 

(I  saw  her  smile!)     Oh,  no,  I  didn't,  . 

Though  long  mine  eyes  did  stare; 
The  cubes  closed  down  and  shut  her  out; 

I   wept  in  deep  despair; 
But  this  I  know,  and  know  full  well — 

She  simply  wasn't  there! 

Charles  Hanson  Towne. 


A  MELTON  MOWBRAY  PORK-PIE 

Strange  pie  that  is  almost  a  passion, 

O  passion  immoral  for  pie! 
Unknown  are  the  ways  that  they  fashion, 

Unknown  and  unseen  of  the  eye. 
The  pie  that  is  marbled  and  mottled. 

The  pie  that  digests  with  a  sigh: 
For  all  is  not  Bass  that  is  bottled. 

And  all  is  not  pork  that  is  pie. 

Richard  Le  Gallienne. 


ISRAFIDDLESTRTNGS 

In  heaven  a  Spirit  doth  dwell 
Whose  heart  strings  are  a  fiddle, 

(The  reason  he  sings  so  well — 

This  fiddler  Israfel), 

And  the  giddy  stars  (will  any  one  tell 

Why  giddy?)  to  attend  his  spell 
Cease  their  hymns  in  the  middle. 


Israfiddlestrings  473 

On  the  height  of  her  go 

Totters  the  Moon,  and  blushes 

As  the  song  of  that  fiddle  rushes 
Across  her  bow. 

The  red  Lightning  stands  to  listen, 
And  the  eyes  of  the  Pleiads  glisten 
As  each  of  the  seven  puts  its  fist  in 

Its  eye,  for  the  mist  in. 

And  they  say — it's  a  riddle — 

That  all  these  listening  things, 
That  stop  in  the  middle 
For  the  heart-strung  fiddle 

With  such  the  Spirit  sings, 
Are  held  as  on  the  griddle 

By  these  unusual  strings. 

Wherefore  thou  art  not  wrong, 

Israfel!  in  that  thou  boastest 
Fiddlestrings  uncommon  strong; 
To  thee  the  fiddlestrings  belong 

With  which  thou  toastest; 
Other  hearts  as  on  a  prong. 

Yes!  heaven  is  thine,  but  this 

Is  a  world  of  sours  and  sweets, 

Where  cold  meats  are  cold  meats. 
And  the  eater's  most  perfect  bliss 

Is  the  shadow  of  him  who  treats. 

If  I  could  griddle 
As  Israfiddle 

Has  griddled — he  fiddle  as  I, — 
He  might  not  fiddle  so  wild  a  riddle 

As  this  mad  melody, 
While  the  Pleiads  all  would  leave  off  in  the  middle 

Hearing  my  griddle-cry. 

Unknown. 


474!  Parody 


AFTER  DILETTANTE  CONCETTI 

"  Why  do  you  wear  your  hair  like  a  man, 

Sister  Helen? 
This  week  is  the  third  since  you  began." 
"  I'm  writing  a  ballad ;  be  still  if  you  can. 
Little  brother. 
(O  Mother  Carey,  mother! 
What  chickens  are  these  between  sea  and  heaven?)" 

"  But  why  does  your  figure  appear  so  lean. 

Sister  Helen? 
And  why  do  you  dress  in  sage,  sage  green?" 
"  Children  should  never  be  heard,  if  seen. 
Little  brother? 
(O  Mother  Carey,  mother! 
What  fowls  are  a- wing  in  the  stormy  heaven !)  " 

"  But  why  is  your  face  so  yellowy  white, 

Sister  Helen? 
And  why  are  your  skirts  so  funnily  tight?" 
"  Be  quiet,  you  torment,  or  how  can  I  write, 

Little   brother? 
(O  Mother  Carey,  mother! 
How  gathers  thy  train  to  the  sea  from  the  heaven!)" 

"  And  who's  pother  Carey,  and  what  is  her  train, 

Sister  Helen? 
And  why  do  you  call  her  again  and  again  ?  " 
"  You  troublesome  boy,  why  that's  the  refrain. 

Little  brother. 
(O  Mother  Carey,  mother! 
What  work  is  toward  in  the  startled  heaven  ?)  " 

"  And  what's  a  refrain  ?    What  a  curious  word, 

Sister  Helen! 
Is  the  ballad  you're  writing  about  a  sea-bird?" 
"  Not  at  all;  why  should  it  be?    Don't  be  absurd. 

Little  brother. 
(O  Mother  Carey,  mother ! 
Thy  brood  flies  lower  as  lowers  the  heaven.)  ** 


After  Dilettante  Concetti  475 

• 

(A  big  brother  speaketh:) 
"  The  refrain  you've  studied  a  meaning  had, 

Sister  Helen! 

It  gave  strange  force  to  a  weird  ballad. 

But  refrains  have  become  a  ridiculous  *  fad/ 

Little  brother. 

And  Mother  Carey,  mother, 

Has  a  bearing  on  nothing  in  earth  or  heaven. 

"  But  the  finical  fashion  has  had  its  day, 

Sister   Helen. 
And  let's  try  in  the  style  of  a  different  lay 
To  bid  it  adieu  in  poetical  way, 

Little  brother. 
So,  Mother  Carey,  mother! 
Collect  your  chickens  and  go  to — heaven." 

{A  pause.    Then  the  hig  brother  singeth,  accompany- 
ing himself  in  a  plaintive  wise  on  the  triangle.) 

"  Look  in  my  face.    My  name  is  Used-to-was; 
I  am  also  called  Played-out,  and  Done  to  Death, 
And  It-will-wash-no-more.     Awakeneth 

Slowly  but  sure  awakening  it  has. 

The  common-sense  of  man;  and  I,  alas! 

The  ballad-burden  trick,  now  known  too  well. 
And  turned  to  scorn,  and  grown  contemptible — 

A  too  transparent  artifice  to  pass. 

"  What  a  cheap  dodge  T  am !    The  cats  who  dart 
Tin-kettled  through  the  streets  in  wild  surprise 
Assail  judicious  ears  not  otherwise; 
And  yet  no  critics  praise  the  urchin's  *  art,' 
Who  to  the  wretched  creature's  caudal  part 
Its  foolish  empty-jingling  *  burden  '  ties." 

H.  D.  Traill. 


476  Parody 

WHENCENESS  OF  THE  WHICH 

SOME   DISTANCE   AFTER   TENNYSON 

Come  into  the  Whenceness  Which, 

For  the  fierce  Because  has  flown: 
Come  into  the  Whenceness  Which, 

I  am  here  by  the  Where  alone; 
And  the  Whereas  odors  are  wafted  abroad 

Till  I  hold  my  nose  and  groan. 

Queen  Which  of  the  Whichbud  garden  of  What's 

Come  hither  the  jig  is  done. 
In  gloss  of  Isness  and  shimmer  of  Was, 

Queen  Th isness  and  Which  in  one; 
Shine  out,  little  Which,  sunning  over  the  bangs, 

To  the  Nowness,  and  be  its  sun. 

There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 

From  the  Is  flower  at  the  fence; 
She  is  coming,  my  Which,  my  dear, 

And  as  she  Whistles  a  song  of  the  Whence, 
The  Nowness  cries,  "  She  is  near,  she  is  near." 

And  the  Thingness  howls,  "  Alas! " 
The  Whoness  murmurs,  "  Well,  I  should  smile," 

And  the  Whatlet  sobs,  "  I  pass." 

Unknown. 


THE  LITTLE  STAR 

Scintillate,  scintillate,  globule  orific, 
Fain  would  I  fathom  thy  nature's  specific. 
Loftily  poised  in  ether  capacious. 
Strongly  resembling  a  gem  carbonaceous. 

When  torrid  Phoebus  refuses  his  presence 
And  ceases  to  lamp  with  fierce  incandescence, 
Then  you  illumine  the  regions  supernal. 
Scintillate,  scintillate,  semper  nocturnal. 


I 


Saintc  Margeric  4T7 

Then  the  victim  of  hospiceless  peregrination 
Gratefully  hails  your  minute  coruscation. 
He  could  not  determine  his  journey's  direction 
But  for  your  bright  scintillating  protection. 

,    Unknown. 


THE  ORIGINAL  LAMB 

On,  Mary  had  a  little  lamb,  regarding  whose  cuticular 
The  flufiF  exterior  was  white  and  kinked  in  each  particular. 
On   each   occasion   when   the   lass   was   seen   perambulating, 
The  little  quadruped  likewise  was  there  a  gallivating. 

One  day  it  did  accompany  her  to  the  knowledge  dispensary, 
Which  to  every  rule  and  precedent  was  recklessly  contrary. 
Immediately  whereupon  the  pedagogue  superior, 
Exasperated,  did  eject  the  lamb  from  the  interior. 

Then  Mary,  on  beholding  such  performance  arbitrary, 
Suffused    her    eyes    with    saline    drops    from    glands    called 

lachrymary, 
And  all  the  pupils  grew  thereat  tumultuously  hilarious, 
And  speculated  on  the  case  with  wild  conjectures  various. 

"What  makes  the  lamb  love  Mary  so?"  the  scholars  asked 

the  teacher, 
lie  paused  a  moment,  then  he  tried  to  diagnose  the  creature. 
"  Oh  pecus  amorem  Mary  habit  omnia  temporum." 
"  Thanks,  teacher  dear,"  the  scholars  cried,  and  awe  crept 

darkly  o'er  'em. 

Unknown. 


I 


SAINTE  MARGERIE 

Slim  feet  than  lilies  tenderer, — 

Margerie! 
That  scarce  upbore  the  body  of  her, 
Naked  upon  the  stones  they  were; — 

C'est  <^a  Saint e  Margerie! 


478  Parody 

White  as  a  shroud  the  silken  gown, — 

Margerie  ! 
That  flowed  from  shoulder  to  ankle  down, 
With  clear  blue  shadows  along  it  thrown; 

C'^est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

On  back  and  bosom  withouten  braid, — 

Margerie! 
In  crisped  glory  of  darkling  red, 
Round  creamy  temples  her  hair  was  shed ; — 

C*est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

Eyes,  like  a  dim  sea,  viewed  from  far, — 

Margerie! 
Lips  that  no  earthly  love  shall  mar. 
More  sweet  that  lips  of  mortals  are; — 

C'est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

The  chamber  walls  are  cracked  and  bare; — 

Margerie! 
Without  the  gossips  stood  astare 
At  men  her  bed  away  that  bare;  — 

C'est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

Five  pennies  lay  her  hand  within, — 

Margerie! 
So  she  her  fair  soul's  weal  might  win, 
Little  she  reck'd  of  dule  or  teen; — 

C*est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

Dank  straw  from  dunghill  gathered, — 

Margerie! 
Where  fragrant  swine  have  made  their  bed. 
Thereon  her  body  shall  be  laid; — 

C*est  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

Three  pennies  to  the  poor  in  dole, — 

Margerie! 
One  to  the  clerk  her  knell  shall  toll, 
And  one  to  masses  for  her  soul; — 

C*esi  ga  Sainte  Margerie! 

Unknown. 


Robert  Frost  479 

EGBERT  FROST 

RELATES   THE   DEATH    OF   THE   TIRED    MAN 

There  were  two  of  us  left  in  the  berry-patch ; 

Bryan  O'Lin  and  Jack  had  gone  to  Norwich. — 

They  called  him  Jack  a'  Nory,  half  in  fun 

And  half  because  it  seemed  to  anger  him. — 

So  there  we  stood  and  let  the  berries  go, 

Talking  of  men  we  knew  and  had  forgotten. 

A  sprawling,  humpbacked  mountain  frowned  on  us 

And  blotted  out  a  smouldering  sunset  cloud 

That  broke  in  fiery  ashes.    "  Well,"  he  said, 

"  Old  Adam  Brown  is  dead  and  gone ;  you'll  never 

See  him  any  more.    He  used  to  wear 

A  long,  brown  coat  that  buttoned  down  before. 

That's  all  I  ever  knew  of  him ;  T  guess  that's  all 

That  anyone  remembers.    Eh?"  he  said, 

And  then,  without  a  pause  to  let  me  answer. 

He  went  right  on. 

"  How  about  Dr.  Foster?  " 
"  Well,  how  ahout  him? "  I  managed  to  reply. 
He  glared  at  me  for  having  interrupted. 
And  stopped  to  pick  his  words  before  he  spoke ; 
Like  one  who  turns  all  personal  remarks 
Into  a  general  survey  of  the  world. 
Choosing  his  phrases  with  a  finicky  care 
So  they  might  fit  some  vague  opinions. 
Taken,  third-hand,  from  last  year's  New  Yorh  Times 
And  jumbled  all  together  into  a  thing 
He  thought  was  his  philosophy. 

"  Never  mind ; 
There's  more  in  Foster  than  you'd  understand. 
But,"  he  continued,  darkly  as  before, 
"What  do  you  make  of  Solomon  Grundy's  case? 
You  know  the  gossip  when  he  first  came  here. 
Folks  said  he'd  gone  to  smash  in  Lunenburg, 
And  four  years  in  the  State  Asylum  here 
Had  almost  finished  him.    It  was  Sanders'  job 
That  put  new  life  in  him.    A  defer,  cool  day; 
The  second  Monday  in  July  it  was. 


480  Parody 

'Born  on  a  Monday,'  that  is  what  they  said. 

Remember  the  next  few  days?     I  guess  you  don't; 

That  was  before  your  time.     Well,  Tuesday  night 

He  said  he'd  go  to  church;  and  just  before  the  prayer 

He  blurts  right  out,  *  I've  come  here  to  get  christened. 

If  I  am  going  to  have  a  brand  new  life 

I'll  have  a  new  name,  too.'    Well,  sure  enough 

They  christened  him,  though  I've  forgotten  what; 

And  Etta  Stark,  (you  know,  the  pastor's  girl) 

Her  head  upset  by  what  she  called  romance. 

She  went  and  married  him  on  Wednesday  noon. 

Thursday  the  sun  or  something  in  the  air 

Got  in  his  blood  and  right  off  he  took  sick. 

Friday  the  thing  got  worse,  and  so  did  he; 

And  Saturday  at  four  o'clock  he  died. 

Buried  on  Sunday  with  the  town  decked  out 

As  if  it  was  a  circus-day.    And  not  a  soul 

Knew  why  they  went  or  what  he  meant  to  them 

Or  what  he  died  of.    What  would  be  your  guess  ? " 

*'  Well,"  I  replied,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  he, 

Just  coming  from  a  sedentary  life. 

Felt  a  great  wave  of  energy  released, 

And  tried  to  crowd  too  much  in  one  short  week. 

The  laws  of  physics  teach — " 

"  No,  not  at  all. 
He  never  knew  'em.    He  was  just  tired,"  he  said. 

Louis  Untermeyer. 


OWEN  SEAMAN 

ESTABLISHES  THE  "ENTENTE  CORDIALE  "  BY  RECITING  "  THE 
SINGULAR  STUPIDITY  OF  J.  SPRATT,  ESQ.,"  IN  THE  MANNER  OF 
GUY   WETMORE   CARRYL. 

Op  all  the  mismated  pairs  ever  created 

The  worst  of  the  lot  were  the  Spratts. 
Their  life  was  a  series  of  quibbles  and  queries 

And  quarrels  and  squabbles  and  spats. 
They  argued  at  breakfast,  they  argued  at  tea, 
And  they  argued  from  midnight  to  quarter  past  three. 


Owen  Seaman  481 

The  family  Spratt-head  was  rather  a  fat-head, 

And  a  bellicose  body  to  boot. 
He  was  selfish  and  priggish  and  worse,  he  was  piggish — 

A  regular  beast  of  a  brute. 
At  table  his  acts  were  incredibly  mean; 
He  gave  his  wife  f at^and  he  gobbled  the  lean ! 


Whaf  s  more,  she  was  censured  whenever  she  ventured 

To  dare  to  object  to  her  fare; 
He  said  "  It  ain't  tasteful,  but  we  can't  be  wasteful; 

And  someone  must  eat  what  is  there ! " 
But  his  coarseness  exceeded  all  bounds  of  control 
When  he  laughed  at  her  Art  and  the  State  of  her  Soul. 

So  what  with  his  Jeering  and  fleering  and  sneering. 

He  plagued  her  from  dawn  until  dark. 
He  bellowed  "  I'll  teach  ye  to  read  Shaw  and  Nietzsche  "- 

And  he  was  as  bad  as  his  bark. 

"  The  place  for  a  woman "  he'd  start,  very  glib.  .    . 

And  so  on,  for  two  or  three  hours  ad  lib. 

So  very  malignant  became  his  indignant 
Remarks  about  "  Culture  "  and  "  Cranks," 

That  at  last  she  revolted.    She  up  and  she  bolted 
And  entered  the  militant  ranks.  .    .    . 

When  she  died,  after  breaking  nine-tenths  of  the  laws, 

She  left  all  her  money  and  jewels  to  the  Cause! 

And  THE  MORAL  is  this  (though  a  bit  abstruse) : 
What's  sauce  for  a  more  or  less  proper  goose, 
When  it  rouses  the  violent,  feminine  dander. 
Is  apt  to  be  sauce  for  the  propaganda. 

Louis  Untertneyer. 


482  Parody 


THE  MODERN  HIAWATHA 

He  killed  the  noble  Mudjokivis. 
Of  the  skin  he  made  him  mittens, 
Made  them  with  the  fur  side  inside 
Made  them  with  the  skin  side  outside. 
He,  to  get  the  warm  side  inside, 
Put  the  inside  skin  side  outside; 
He,  to  get  the  cold  side  outside. 
Put  the  warm  side  fur  side  inside. 
That's  why  he  put  the  fur  side  inside, 
Why  he  put  the  skin  side  outside. 
Why  he  turned  them  inside  outside. 

Unknown. 


SOMEWHERE-IN-EUROPE-WOCKY 

'TwAS  Brussels,  and  the  loos  liege 
Did  meuse  and  arras  in  latour; 

All  vimy  were  the  metz  maubege, 
And  the  tsing-tau  namur. 


"Beware  the  petrograd,  my  son — 

The  jaws  that  bite,  the  claws  that  plough! 

Beware  the  posen,  and  verdun 
The  soldan  mons  glogau !  " 


He  took  his  dixmude  sword  in  hand; 

Long  time  his  altkirch  foe  he  sought; 
Then  rested  he  'neath  the  Warsaw  tree, 

And  stood  awhile  in  thought. 


And  as  in  danzig  thought  he  stood 
The  petrograd,  with  eyes  of  flame. 

Came  ypring  through  the  cracow  wood, 
And  longwied  as  it  came. 


Rigid  Body  Sings  483 

One  two !    One  two !  and  through  and  through 
The  dixmude  blade  went  snicker-snack; 

He  left  it  dead,  and  with  its  head 
He  gallipolied  back. 

"  And  hast  thou  slain  the  petrograd  ? 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  krithnia  boy! 
O  chanak  day!    Artois!    Grenay!" 

He  woevred  in  his  joy. 

'Twas  brussels,  and  the  loos  liege 

Did  meuse  and  arras  in  latour; 
All  vimy  were  the  metz  maubege, 

And  the  tsing-tau  namur. 

F.  G.  HartsTvick. 


RIGID  BODY  SINGS 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Flyin'  through  the  air, 
Gin  a  body  hit  a  body, 

Will  it  fly?  and  where? 
Ilka  impact  has  its  measure, 

Ne'er  a'  ane  hae  T, 
Yet  a'  the  lads  they  measure  me, 

Or,  at  least,  they  try. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Altogether  free. 
How  they  travel  afterwards 

We  do  not  always  see. 
Ilka  problem  has  its  method 

By  analytics  high; 
For  me,  I  ken  na  ane  o'  them. 

But  what  the  waur  am  I? 

/.  C  Maxwell. 


484  Parody 

A  BALLAD  OF  HIGH  ENDEAVOK 

Ah  Night!  blind  germ  of  days  to  be, 
Ah,  me!  ah  me! 
(Sweet  Venus,  mother!) 
What  wail  of  smitten  strings  hear  we? 
(Ah  me!  ah  me! 

Hey  diddle  dee!) 

Ravished  by  clouds  our  Lady  Moon,     .  . 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  Venus,  mother!) 
Sinks  swooning  in  a  lady-swoon 

(Ah  me!  ah  me! 

Dum  diddle  dee!) 

What  profits  it  to  rise  i'  the  dark? 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  Venus,  mother!) 
If  love  but  over-soar  its  mark 

(Ah  me!  ah  me! 

Hey  diddle  dee!) 

What  boots  to  fall  again  forlorn? 

Ah  me!  ah  me! 

(Sweet  Venus,  mother!) 
Scorned  by  the  grinning  hound  of  scorn, 

(Ah  me!  ah  me! 

Dum  diddle  dee!) 

Art  thou  not  greater  who  art  less? 
Ah  me!  ah  me! 
(Sweet  Venus,  mother!) 
Low  love  fulfilled  of  low  success? 
(Ah  me!  ah  me! 

Hey  diddle  dee!) 

Unknown. 


Fathqr   William  *85 


FATHER  WILLIAM 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"And  your  hair  has  become  very  white; 
And  yet  you  incessantly  stand  on  your  head — 

Do  you  think,  at  your  age,  it  is  right? " 

"  In  my  youth,"  Father  William  replied  to  his  son, 

"I  feared  it  might  injure  the  brain; 
But  now  that  I'm  perfectly  sure  I  have  none, 

Why,  I  do  it  again  and  again." 

"  You  are  old,"  said  the  youth,  "  as  I  mentioned  before, 

And  have  grown  most  uncommonly  fat; 
Yet  you  turned  a  back  somersault  in  at  the  door — 

Pray,  what  is  the  reason  of  that?  " 

"  In  my  youth,"  said  the  sage,  as  he  shook  his  gray  locks, 

"  I  kept  all  my  limbs  very  supple 
By  the  use  of  this  ointment — one  shilling  the  box — 

Allow  me  to  sell  you  a  couple." 

"  You  are  old,"  said  the  youth,  "  and  your  jaws  are  too  weak 

For  anything  tougher  than  suet; 
Yet  you  finished  the  goose,  with  the  bones  and  the  beak; 

Pray,  how  did  you  manage  to  do  it? " 

"  In  my  youth,"  said  his  father,  "  I  took  to  the  law. 

And  argued  each  case  with  my  wife; 
And  the  muscular  strength  which  it  gave  to  my  jaw, 

Has  lasted  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  You  are  old,"  said  the  youth ;  "  one  would  hardly  suppose 

That  your  eye  was  as  steady  as  ever; 
Yet  you  balanced  an  eel  on  the  end  of  your  nose — 

What  made  you  so  awfully  clever  ? " 

"  I  have  answered  three  questions,  and  that  is  enough," 
Said  his  father;  "don't  give  yourself  airs! 

Do  you  think  I  can  listen  all  day  to  such  stuff? 
Be  off,  or  I'll  kick  you  down-stairs ! " 

Lewis  Carroll. 


486  Parody 

THE  POETS  AT  TEA 
1 — {Macaulay,  who  made  it) 

Pour,  varlet,  pour  the  water, 

The  water  steaming  hot ! 
A  spoonful  for  each  man  of  us. 

Another  for  the  pot! 
We  shall  not  drink  from  amber, 

Nor  Capuan  slave  shall  mix 
For  us  the  snows  of  Athos 

With  port  at  thirty-six; 
Whiter  than  snow  the  crystals. 

Grown  sweet  ^neath  tropic  fires. 
More  rich  the  herbs  of  China's  field, 
The  pasture-lands  more  fragrance  yield; 
For  ever  let  Britannia  wield 

The  tea-pot  of  her  sires! 


2 — {Tennyson,  who  took  it  hot) 

I  think  that  I  am  drawing  to  an  end: 
For  on  a  sudden  came  a  gasp  for  breath, 
And  stretching  of  the  hands,  and  blinded  eyes. 
And  a  great  darkness  falling  on  my  soul. 
O  Hallelujah!  .    .    .   Kindly  pass  the  milk. 


3 — {Swinhurne,  who  let  it  get  cold) 

As  the  sin  that  was  sweet  in  the  sinning 

Is  foul  in  the  ending  thereof, 
As  the  heat  of  the  summer's  beginning 

Is  past  in  the  winter  of  love : 
O  purity,  painful  and  pleading! 

O  coldness,  ineffably  gray! 
Oh,  hear  us,  our  handmaid  unheeding. 

And  take  it  away! 


I 


The  Poets  at  Tea  487 

4 — (Cowper,  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  it) 

The  cosy  fire  is  bright  and  gay. 
The  merry  kettle  boils  away 

And  hums  a  cheerful  song. 
I  sing  the  saucer  and  the  cup; 
Pray,  Mary,  fill  the  tea-pot  up, 

And  do  not  make  it  strong. 

6 — (Browning,  who  treated  it  allegorically) 

Tut!    Bah!    We  take  as  another  case — 

Pass  the  bills  on  the  pills  on  the  window-sill;  notice  the 
capsule 
(A  sick  man's  fancy,  no  doubt,  but  I  place 

Reliance  on  trade-marks,  Sir) — so  perhaps  you'll 
Excuse  the  digression — this  cup  which  I  hold 

Light-poised — Bah,  it's  spilt  in  the  bed! — well,  let's  on  go — 
Hold  Bohea  and  sugar.  Sir;  if  you  were  told 

The  sugar  was  salt,  would  the  Bohea  be  Congo? 

6 — (Wordsworth,  who  gave  it  away) 

"  Come,  little  cottage  girl,  you  seem 

To  want  my  cup  of  tea; 
And  will  you  take  a  little  cream? 

Now  tell  the  truth  to  me." 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  grin. 

Her  cheek  was  soft  as  silk, 
And  she  replied,  "  Sir,  please  put  in 

A  little  drop  of  milk." 

"Why,  what  put  milk  into  your  head? 

'Tis  cream  my  cows  supply;  " 
And  five  times  to  the  child  I  said, 

"  Why,  pig-head,  tell  me,  why  ? " 

g^  "  You  call  me  pig-head,"  she  replied ; 

^^  "  My  proper  name  is  Ruth. 

Hk  called  that  milk  " — she  blushed  with  pride — 

^P   *'  You  bade  me  speak  the  truth." 


488  Parody 

7 — (Poe,  who  got  excited  over  it) 

Here's  a  mellow  cup  of  tea,  golden  tea ! 

What  a  world  of  rapturous  thought  its  fragrance  brings  to 
me! 

Oh,  from  out  the  silver  cells 

How  it  wells ! 

How  it  smells ! 
Keeping  tune,  tune,  tune 
To  the  tintinnabulation  of  the  spoon. 
And  the  kettle  on  the  fire 
Boils  its  spout  off  with  desire, 
With  a  desperate  desire 
And  a  crystalline  endeavour 
Now,  now  to  sit,  or  never. 
On  the  top  of  the  pale-faced  moon, 
But  he  always  came  home  to  tea,  tea,  tea,  tea,  tea, 
Tea  to  the  n — th. 


8 — {Rossetti,  who  took  six  cups  of  it) 

The  lilies  lie  in  my  lady's  bower 
(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost), 
They  faintly  droop  for  a  little  hour; 
My  lady's  head  droops  like  a  flower. 

She  took  the  porcelain  in  her  hand 
(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost) ; 
She  poured;  I  drank  at  her  command; 
Drank  deep,  and  now — ^you  understand ! 
(O  weary  mother,  drive  the  cows  to  roost.) 


9 — (Burns,  who  liked  it  adulterated) 

Weel,  gin  ye  speir,  I'm  no  inclined, 
Whusky  or  tay — to  state  my  mind. 
Fore  ane  or  ither; 
For,  gin  I  tak  the  first,  I'm  fou, 
And  gin  the  next,  I'm  dull  as  you, 
Mix  a'  thegither. 


I 


If  I  Should  Die  To-night  489 

10 — {Walt  Whitman,  who  didnft  stay  more  than  a  minute) 

One  cup  for  myself-hood, 

Many  for  you.     Allons,  camerados,  we  will  drink  together, 

O  hand-in-hand!     That  tea-spoon,  please,  when  you've  done 

with  it. 
What  butter-colour'd  hair  you've  got.     I  don't  want  to  be 

personal. 
All  right,  then,  you  needn't.    You're  a  stale-cadaver. 
Eighteen-pence  if  the  bottles  are  returned. 
Allons,  from  all  bat-eyed  formula. 

Barry  Pain. 

HOW  OFTEN 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight, 

In  a  park  not  far  from  the  town ; 
They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight. 

Because  they  didn't  sit  down. 

The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city, 

Behind  the  dark  church  spire; 
The  moon  rose  o'er  the  city 

And  kept  on  rising  higher. 

How  often,  oh,  how  often! 

They  whispered  words  so  soft; 
How  often,  oh,  how  often; 

How  often,  oh,  how  oft! 


Ben  King. 


IF  I  SHOULD  DIE  TO-NIGHT 


If  I  should  die  to-night 
And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  say. 
Weeping  and  heartsick  o'er  my  lifeless  clay — 

If  I  should  die  to-night. 
And  you  should  come  in  deepest  grief  and  woe — 
And  say:  "  Here's  that  ten  dollars  that  T  owe," 

I  might  arise  in  my  large  white  cravat 

And  say,  "What's  that?" 


490  Parody 

If  I  should  die  to-night 
And  you  should  come  to  my  cold  corpse  and  kneel, 
Clasping  my  bier  to  show  the  grief  you  feel, 

I  say,  if  I  should  die  to-night 
And  you  should  come  to  me,  and  there  and  then 
Just  even  hint  'bout  paying  me  that  ten, 

I  might  arise  the  while, 

But  I'd  drop  dead  again. 

Ben  King. 


"  THE  DAY  IS  DONE  " 

The  day  is  done,  and  darkness 
From  the  wing  of  night  is  loosed. 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward. 
From  a  chicken  going  to  roost. 


I  see  the  lights  of  the  baker. 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  mist. 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me. 
That  I  cannot  well  resist. 


A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing 
That  is  not  like  being  sick. 

And  resembles  sorrow  only 
As  a  brickbat  resembles  a  brick. 


Come,  get  for  me  some  supper, — 
A  good  and  regular  meal — 

That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
And  banish  the  pain  I  feel. 


Not  from  the  pastry  bakers, 
Not  from  the  shops  for  cake; 

I  wouldn't  give  a  farthing 
For  all  that  they  can  make. 


Jacob  491 


For,  like  the  soup  at  dinner, 
Such  things  would  but  suggest 

Some  dishes  more  substantial, 
And  to-night  I  want  the  best. 

Go  to  some  honest  butcher, 
Whose  beef  is  fresh  and  nice. 

As  any  they  have  in  the  city 
And  get  a  liberal  slice. 

Such  things  through  days  of  labor, 
And  nights  devoid  of  ease. 

For  sad  and  desperate  feelings. 
Are  wonderful  remedies. 


They  have  an  astonishing  power 

To  aid  and  reinforce, 
And  come  like  the  *'  finally,  brethren," 

That  follows  a  long  discourse. 

Then  get  me  a  tender  sirloin 
From  off  the  bench  or  hook. 

And  lend  to  its  sterling  goodness 
The  science  of  the  cook. 


And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  comfort, 
And  the  cares  with  which  it  begun 

Shall  fold  up  their  blankets  like  Indians, 
And  silently  cut  and  run. 

Phoehe  Cary, 


JACOB 


He  dwelt  among  "  Apartments  let," 

About  five  stories  high ; 
A  man,  I  thought,  that  none  would  get. 

And  very  few  would  try. 


492  Parody 

A  boulder,  by  a  larger  stone 

Half  hidden  in  the  mud, 
Fair  as  a  man  when  only  one 

Is  in  the  neighborhood. 

He  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  tell 

When  Jacob  was  not  free; 
But  he  has  got  a  wife — and  O ! 

The  difference  to  me! 

Phoehe  Cary. 

BALLAD  OF  THE  CANAL 

We  were  crowded  in  the  cabin. 

Not  a  soul  had  room  to  sleep; 
It  was  midnight  on  the  waters, 

And  the  banks  were  very  steep. 

'Tis  a  fearful  thing  when  sleeping 

To  be  startled  by  the  shock, 
And  to  hear  the  rattling  trumpet 

Thunder,  "  Coming  to  a  lock! " 

So  we  shuddered  there  in  silence, 

For  the  stoutest  berth  was  shook, 
While  the  wooden  gates  were  opened 

And  the  mate  talked  with  the  cook.  ^ 

And  as  thus  we  lay  in  darkness, 

Each  one  wishing  we  were  there, 
"  We  are  through !  "  the  captain  shouted, 

And  he  sat  down  on  a  chair. 

And  his  little  daughter  whispered. 
Thinking  that  he  ought  to  know, 

"Isn't  travelling  by  canal-boats 
Just  as  safe  as  it  is  slow  ? " 

Then  he  kissed  the  little  maiden. 

And  with  better  cheer  we  spoke, 
And  we  trotted  into  Pittsburg, 

When  the  morn  looked  through  the  smoke. 

Phoebe  Cary. 


Reuben  493 


THERE'S  A  BOWER  OF  BEAN-VINES 

There's  a  bower  of  bean-vines  in  Benjamin's  yard, 
And  the  cabbages  grow  round  it,  planted  for  greens; 

In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twas  terribly  hard 
To  bend  down  the  bean-poles,  and  pick  off  the  beans. 

That  bower  and  its  products  I  never  forget. 
But  oft,  when  my  landlady  presses  me  hard, 

I  think,  are  the  cabbages  growing  there  yet. 

Are  the  bean-vines  still  bearing  in  Benjamin's  yard? 

No,  the  bean-vines  soon  withered  that  once  used  to  wave, 
But  some  beans  had  been  gathered,  the  last  that  hung  on ; 

And  a  soup  was  distilled  in  a  kettle,  that  gave 
All  the  fragrance  of  summer  when  summer  was  gone. 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 
An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  awfully  hard; 

As  thus  good  to  my  taste  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes, 
Is  that  bower  of  bean-vines  in  Benjamin's  yard. 

Phcehe  Cary.     ' 


REUBEN 

That  very  time  I  saw,  (but  thou  couldst  not), 
Walking  between  the  garden  and  the  barn, 
Reuben,  all  armed;  a  certain  aim  he  took 
At  a  young  chicken,  standing  by  a  post. 
And  loosed  his  bullet  smartly  from  his  gun. 
As  he  would  kill  a  hundred  thousand  hens. 
But  I  might  see  young  Reuben's  fiery  shot 
Lodged  in  the  chaste  board  of  the  garden  fence. 
And  the  domesticated  fowl  passed  on 
In  henly  meditation,  bullet  free. 

Phoohe  Cary. 


494!  Parody 


THE  WIFE 


Her  washing  ended  with  the  day, 

Yet  lived  she  at  its  close, 
And  passed  the  long,  long  night  away 

In  darning  ragged  hose. 

But  when  the  sun  in  all  its  state 

Illumed  the  Eastern  skies, 
She  passed  about  the  kitchen  grate 

And  went  to  making  pies. 

Phoebe  Cary. 


WHEN  LOVELY  WOMAN 

When  lovely  woman  wants  a  favor. 

And  finds,  too  late,  that  man  won^t  bend, 

What  earthly  circumstance  can  save  her 
From  disappointment  in  the  end? 

The  only  way  to  bring  him  over, 

The  last  experiment  to  try, 
Whether  a  husband  or  a  lover, 

If  he  have  feeling  is — to  cry. 

Phoebe  Cary. 


JOHN  THOMPSON'S  DAUGHTER 

A  FELLOW  near  Kentucky's  clime 
Cries,  "Boatman,  do  not  tarry. 

And  I'll  give  thee  a  silver  dime 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." 

"  Now,  who  would  cross  the  Ohio, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water?" 

"  O,  I  am  this  young  lady's  beau, 

And  she,  John  Thompson's  daughter. 


John  Thompson's  Daughter  496 

"  We've  fled  before  her  father's  spite 

With  great  precipitation; 
And  should  he  find  us  here  to-night, 

I'd  lose  my  reputation. 


"  They've  missed  the  girl  and  purse  beside, 
His  horsemen  hard  have  pressed  me; 

And  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride, 
If  yet  they  shall  arrest  me  ? " 

Out  spoke  the  boatman  then  in  time, 
"You  shall  not  fail,  don't  fear  it; 

I'll  go,  not  for  your  silver  dime. 
But  for  your  manly  spirit. 

"  And  by  my  word,  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry; 
For  though  a  storm  is  coming  on, 

I'll  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  wind  more  fiercely  rose, 

The  boat  was  at  the  landing; 
And  with  the  drenching  rain  their  clothes 

Grew  wet  where  they  were  standing. 

But  still,  as  wilder  rose  the  wind. 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer; 

Just  back  a  piece  came  the  police. 
Their  tramping  sounded  nearer. 

"  Oh,  haste  thee,  haste !  "  the  lady  cries, 

"It's  anything  but  funny; 
I'll  leave  the  light  of  loving  eyes. 

But  not  my  father's  money !  " 

And  still  they  hurried  in  the  face 

Of  wind  and  rain  unsparing; 
John  Thompson  reached  the  landing  place — 

His  wrath  was  turned  to  swearing. 


496  Parody 

For  by  the  lightning's  angry  flash. 
His  child  he  did  discover; 

One  lovely  hand  held  all  the  cash, 
And  one  was  round  her  lover! 


"  Come  back,  come  back !  "  he  cried  in  woe, 

Across  the  stormy  water; 
"  But  leave  the  purse,  and  you  may  go, 

My  daughter,  oh,  my  daughter !  " 


'Twas  vain ;  they  reached  the  other  shore 
(Such  doom  the  Fates  assign  us)  ; 

The  gold  he  piled  went  with  his  child. 
And  he  was  left  there  minus. 


Phcehe  Gary. 


A  PORTRAIT 

He  is  to  weet  a  melancholy  carle : 

Thin  in  the  waist,  with  bushy  head  of  hair. 

As  hath  the  seeded  thistle,  when  a  parle 

It  holds  with  Zephyr,  ere  it  sendeth  fair 

Its  light  balloons  into  the  summer  air; 

Thereto  his  beard  had  not  begun  to  bloom. 

No  brush  had  touched  his  cheek,  or  razor  sheer; 

No  care  had  touched  his  cheek  with  mortal  doom. 

But  new  he  was  and  bright,  as  scarf  from  Persian  loom. 


Ne  cared  he  for  wine,  or  half  and  half; 

Ne  cared  he  for  fish,  or  flesh,  or  fowl ; 

And  sauces  held  he  worthless  as  the  chaff; 

He  'sdeigned  the  swine-head  at  the  wassail-bowl: 

Ne  with  lewd  ribbalds  sat  he  cheek  by  jowl; 

Ne  with  sly  lemans  in  the  scorner's  chair; 

But  after  water-brooks  this  pilgrim's  soul 

Panted  and  all  his  food  was  woodland  air; 

Though  he  would  oft-times  feast  on  gilliflowers  rare. 


Annabel  Lee  497 

The  slang  of  cities  in  no  wise  he  knew, 
Tipping  the  wink  to  him  was  heathen  Greek; 
He  sipped  no  "  olden  Tom,"  or  "  ruin  blue," 
Or  Nantz,  or  cherry-brandy,  drunk  full  meek 
By  many  a  damsel  brave  and  rouge  of  cheek; 
Nor  did  he  know  each  aged  watchman's  beat, 
Nor  in  obscured  purlieus  would  be  seek 
For  curled  Jewesses,  with  ankles  neat. 
Who,  as  they  walk  abroad,  make  tinkling  with  their  feet. 

John  Keats. 


ANNABEL  LEE 

'TwAS  more  than  a  million  years  ago. 

Or  so  it  seems  to  me. 
That  I  used  to  prance  around  and  beau 

The  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 
There  were  other  girls  in  the  neighborhood 

But  none  was  a  patch  to  she. 

And  this  was  the  reason  that  long  ago. 

My  love  fell  out  of  a  tree, 
And  busted  herself  on  a  cruel  rock; 

A  solemn  sight  to  see, 
For  it  spoiled  the  hat  and  gown  and  looks 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 

We  loved  with  a  love  that  was  lovely  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee, 
And  we  went  one  day  to  gather  the  nuts 

That  men  call  hickoree. 
And  I  stayed  below  in  the  rosy  glow 

WTiile  she  shinned  up  the  tree. 
But  no  sooner  up  than  down  kerslup 

Came  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 

And  the  pallid  moon  and  the  hectic  noon 
Bring  gleams  of  dreams  for  me. 

Of  the  desolate  and  desperate  fate 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 


498  Parody 

And  I  often  think  as  I  sink  on  the  brink 
Of  slumber's  sea,  of  the  warm  pink  link 

That  bound  my  soul  to  Annabel  Lee; 
And  it  wasn't  just  best  for  her  interest 

To  climb  that  hickory  tree, 
For  had  she  stayed  below  with  me, 

We'd  had  no  hickory  nuts  maybe, 
But  I  should  have  had  my  Annabel  Lee. 

Stanley  Huntley. 


HOME  SWEET  HOME  WITH  VARIATIONS 

Being  suggestions  of  the  various  styles  in  which  an  old  theme 
might  have  been  treated  by  certain  metrical  composers. 

FANTASIA 

I 

The  original  theme  as  John  Howard  Payne  wrote  it: 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam. 

Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home ! 

A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  it  there, 

Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  not  met  with  elsewhere. 


Home,  home!  Sweet,  Sweet  Homel 
There's  no  place  like  Home! 


An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain  I 
Oh,  give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage  again ! 
The  birds  singing  gaily  that  came  at  my  call ! 
Give  me  them !  and  the  peace  of  mind,  dearer  than  all. 


Home,  home!  Sweet,  Sweet  Home! 
There's  no  place  like  Home! 


Home  Sweet  Home  with  Variations  499 


n 

(^5  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  might  have  wrapped  it  up 
in  variations.) 

('Mid  pleasures  and  palaces — ) 

As  sea-foam  blown  of  the  winds,  as  blossom  of  brine  that  is 
drifted 
Hither  and  yon  on  the  barren  breast  of  the  breeze, 
Though  we  wander  on  gusts  of  a  god's  breath,  shaken  and 
shifted, 
The  salt  of  us  stings  and  is  sore  for  the  sobbing  seas. 
For   home's   sake  hungry   at  heart,   we  sicken   in   pillared 
porches 
Of  bliss  made  sick  for  a  life  that  is  barren  of  bliss, 
For  the  place  whereon  is  a  light  out  of  heaven  that  sears 
not  nor  scorches, 
Nor  elsewhere  than  this. 

(An  exile  from  home,  splendor  dazzles  in  vain — )  • 

For  here  we  know  shall  no  gold  thing  glisten, 

No  bright  thing  burn,  and  no  sweet  thing  shine; 
Nor  love  lower  never  an  ear  to  listen 

To  words  that  work  in  the  heart  like  wine. 
What  time  we  are  set  from  our  land  apart, 
For  pain  of  passion  and  hunger  of  heart, 
Though  we  walk  with  exiles  fame  faints  to  christen. 
Or  sing  at  the  Cytherean's  shrine. 

(Variation :  An  exile  from  home — ) 

Whether  with  him  whose  head 

Of  gods  is  honored, 

With  song  made  splendent  in  the  sight  of  men — 

Whose  heart  most  sweetly  stout. 

From  ravishing  France  cast  out. 
Being  firstly  hers,  was  hers  most  wholly  then — 

Or  where  on  shining  seas  like  wine 

The  dove's  wings  draw  the  drooping  Erycine. 


500  Parody 

(Give  me  my  lowly  thatched  cottage — ) 

For  Joy  finds  Love  grow  bitter, 
And  spreads  his  wings  to  quit  her, 
At  thought  of  birds  that  twitter 

Beneath  the  roof-tree's  straw — 

Of  birds  that  come  for  calling. 

No  fear  or  fright  appalling, 

When  dews  of  dusk  are  falling. 
Or  daylight's  draperies  draw. 

(Give  me  them,  and  the  peace  of  mind — ) 

Give  me  these  things  then  back,  though  the  giving  - 

Be  at  cost  of  earth's  garner  of  gold; 
There  is  no  life  without  these  worth  living. 

No  treasure  where  these  are  not  told. 
For  the  heart  give  the  hope  that  it  knows  not. 

Give  the  balm  for  the  burn  of  the  breast — 
For  the  soul  and  the  mind  that  repose  not, 

Oh,  give  us  a  rest! 
% 

ni 

(As  Mr,  Francis  Bret  Harte  might  have  woven  it  into  a 
touching  tale  of  a  western  gentleman  in  a  red  shirt.) 

Brown  o'  San  Juan, 

Stranger,  I'm  Brown. 
Come  up  this  mornin'  from  'Frisco — 

Be'n  a-saltin'  my  specie-stacks  down. 

Be'n  a-knockin'  around, 

Fer  a  man  from  San  Juan, 
Putty  consid'able  frequent — 

Jes'  catch  enter  that  streak  o'  the  dawn! 

\ 
Right  thar  lies  my  home — 

Right  thar  in  the  red —  / 

I  could  slop  over,  stranger,  in  po'try — 

Would  spread  out  old  Shakspoke  cold  dead. 


Home  Sweet  Home  with  Variations  501 

Stranger,  you  freeze  to  this:  there  ain't  no  kinder  gin-palace, 

Nor  no  variety-show  lays  over  a  man's  own  rancho. 

Maybe  it  hain't  no  style,  but  the  Queen  in  the  Tower  o' 

London, 
Ain't  got  naathin'  I'd  swop  for  that  house  over  thar  on  the 

hill-side. 

Thar  is  my  ole  gal,  'n*  the  kids,^n'  the  rest  o'  my  live-stock; 
Thar  my  Remington  hangs,  and  thar  there's  a  griddle-cake 

br'ilin'— 
For  the  two  of  us,  pard — and  thar,  I  allow,  the  heavens 
Smile  more  friendly-like  than  on  any  other  locality. 

Stranger,  nowhere  else  I  don't  take  no  satisfaction. 

Gimme  my  ranch,  'n'  them  friendly  old  Shanghai  chickens — 

I   brung  the  original  pair  f'm   the   States  in   eighteen-'n'- 

fifty- 
Gimme  me  them  and  the  feelin'  of  solid  domestic  comfort. 

Yer  parding,  young  man — 

But  this  landscape  a  kind 
Er  flickers — I  'low  'twuz  the  po'try — 

I  thought  that  my  eyes  hed  gone  blind. 

Take  that  pop  from  my  belt ! 

Hi,   thar! — gimme  yer  ban' — 
Or  I'll  kill  myself — Lizzie — she's  left  me — 

Gone  off  with  a  purtier  man ! 

Thar,  I'll  (luit— the  ole  gal 

An'  the  kids — run  away! 
I  be  domed !    Howsomever,  come  in,  pard — 

The  griddle-cake's  thar,  anyway. 

IV 

(As  Austin  Dohson  might  have  translated  it  from  Horace,  if 
it  had  ever  occurred  to  Horace  to  write  it.) 

^  RONDEAU 

At  home  alone,  O  Nomades, 
Although  Maecenas'  marble  frieze 


i 


502  Parody 

Stand  not  between  you  and  the  sky. 
Nor  Persian  luxury  supply 
Its  rosy  surfeit,  find  ye  ease. 


Tempt  not  the  far  ^gean  breeze; 
With  home-made  wine  and  books  that  please, 
To  duns  and  bores  the  door  deny, 
At  home,  alone. 

Strange  joys  may  lure.     Your  deities 
Smile  here  alone.    Oh,  give  me  these: 
Low  eaves,  where  birds  familiar  fly, 
And  peace  of  mind,  and,  fluttering  by. 
My  Lydia's  graceful  draperies, 
At  home,  alone. 


(As  it  might  have  been  constructed  in  17^4,  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
at  19,  writing  the  first  stanza,  and  Alexander  Pope,  at 
52,  the  second.) 

Home!  at  the  word,  what  blissful  visions  rise. 
Lift  us  from  earth,  and  draw  us  toward  the  skies; 
'Mid  mirag'd  towers,  or  meretricious  joys, 
Although  we  roam,  one  thought  the  mind  employs : 
Or  lowly  hut,  good  friend,  or  loftiest  dome, 
Earth  knows  no  spot  so  holy  as  our  Home. 
There,  where  affection  warms  the  father's  breast, 
There  is  the  spot  of  heav'n  most  surely  blest. 
Howe'er  we  search,  though  wandering  with  the  wind 
Through  frigid  Zembla,  or  the  heats  of  Ind, 
Not  elsewhere  may  we  seek,  nor  elsewhere  know, 
The  light  of  heaven  upon  our  dark  below. 

When  from  our  dearest  hope  and  haven  reft, 
Delight  nor  dazzles,  nor  is  luxury  left. 
We  long,  obedient  to  our  nature's  law. 
To  see  again  our  hovel  thatched  with  straw: 


Home  Sweet  Home  with  Variations  603 

See  birds  that  know  our  avenaceous  store 
Stoop  to  our  hand,  and  thence  repleted  soar : 
But,  of  all  hopes  the  wanderer's  soul  that  share. 
His  pristine  peace  of  mind's  his  final  prayer. 


VI 

(As  Walt  Whitman  might  have  written  all  around  it.) 


You  over  there,  young  man  with  the  guide-book,  red-bound, 

covered  flexibly  with  red  linen. 
Come  here,  I  want  to  talk  with  you;  I,  Walt,  the  Manhat- 

tanese,  citizen  of  these  States,  call  you. 
Yes,   and   the   courier,   too,   smirking,   smug-mouthed,   with 

oil'd  hair;  a  garlicky  look  about  him  generally;  him, 

too,  I  take  in,  just  as  I  would  a  coyote  or  a  king,  or 

a  toad-stool,  or  a  ham-sandwich,  or  anything,  or  any- 
body else  in  the  world. 
Where  are  you  going? 
You  want  to  see  Paris,  to  eat  truffles,  to  have  a  good  time; 

in  Vienna,  London,  Florence,  Monaco,  to  have  a  good 

time;  you  want  to  see  Venice. 
Come  with  me.    I  will  give  you  a  good  time;  I  will  give  you 

all  the  Venice  you  want,  and  most  of  the  Paris. 
I,  Walt,  I  call  to  you.     I  am  all  on  deck!     Come  and  loafe 

with  me!    Let  me  tote  you  around  by  your  elbow  and 

show  you  things. 
You  listen  to  my  ophicleide! 
Home! 
Home,  T  celebrate.    I  elevate  my  fog-whistle,  inspir'd  by  the 

thought  of  home. 
Come  in! — take  a  front  seat;  the  jostle  of  the  crowd  not 

minding;  there  is  room  enough  for  all  of  you. 
This  is  my  exhibition — it  is  the  greatest  show  on  earth — 

there  is  no  charge  for  admission. 
All  you  have  to  pay  me  is  to  take  in  my  romanza. 


504  Parody 


1.  The  brown-stone  house;  the  father  coming  home  worried 

from  a  bad  day's  business;  the  wife  meets  him  in  the 
marble  pav'd  vestibule;  she  throws  her  arms  about 
him;  she  presses  him  close  to  her;  she  looks  him  full 
in  the  face  with  affectionate  eyes;  the  frown  from  his 
brow  disappearing. 

Darling,  she  says,  Johnny  has  fallen  down  and  cut  his 
head;  the  cook  is  going  away,  and  the  boiler  leaks. 

2.  The  mechanic's  dark  little  third-story  room,  seen   in  a 

flash  from  the  Elevated  Railway  train;  the  sewing- 
machine  in  a  corner;  the  small  cook-stove;  the  whole 
family  eating  cabbage  around  a  kerosene  lamp;  of  the 
clatter  and  roar  and  groaning  wail  of  the  Elevated 
train  unconscious;  of  the  smell  of  the  cabbage  uncon- 
scious. 

Me,  passant,  in  the  train,  of  the  cabbage  not  quite  so 
unconscious. 
V  3.  The  French  Flat;  the  small  rooms,  all  right-angles,  un- 
individual;  the  narrow  halls;  the  gaudy,  cheap  decora- 
tions everywhere. 
The  janitor  and  the  cook  exchanging  compliments  up  and 
down  the  elevator-shaft;  the  refusal  to  send  up  more 
coal,  the  solid  splash  of  the  water  upon  his  head,  the 
language  he  sends  up  the  shaft,  the  triumphant  laugh- 
ter of  the  cook,  to  her  kitchen  retiring. 

4.  The  widow's  small  house  in  the  suburbs  of  the  city;  the 

widow's  boy  coming  home  from  his  first  day  down 
town;  he  is  flushed  with  happiness  and  pride;  he  is  no 
longer  a  school-boy,  he  is  earning  money;  he  takes 
on  the  airs  of  a  man  and  talks  learnedly  of  business. 

5.  The  room   in   the  third-class  boarding-house;   the  mean 

little  hard-coal  fire,  the  slovenly  Irish  servant-girl 
making  it,  the  ashes  on  the  hearth,  the  faded  furni- 
ture, the  private  provender  hid  away  in  the  closet,  the 
dreary  backyard  out  the  window;  the  young  girl  at  the 
glass,  with  her  mouth  full  of  hairpins,  doing  up  her 
hair  to  go  downstairs  and  flirt  with  the  young  fellows 
in  the  parlor.  ' 


I 


Home  Sweet  Home  with  Variations  505 

6.  The  kitchen  of  the  old  farm-house;  the  young  convict  just 

returned  from  prison — it  was  his  first  offense,  and  the 
judges  were  lenient  on  him. 

He  is  taking  his  first  meal  out  of  prison;  he  has  been  re- 
ceived back,  kiss'd,  encourag'd  to  start  again;  his 
lungs,  his  nostrils  expand  with  the  big  breaths  of  free 
air;  with  shame,  with  wonderment,  with  a  trembling 
,   joy,  his  heart  too,  expanding. 

The  old  mother  busies  herself  about  the  table;  she  has  ready 
for  him  the  dishes  he  us'd  to  like;  the  father  sits  with 
his  back  to  them,  reading  the  newspaper,  the  news- 
paper shaking  and  rustling  much;  the, children  hang 
wondering  around  the  prodigal — they  have  been  cau- 
tion'd:  Do  not  ask  where  our  Jim  has  been;  only  say 
you  are  glad  to  see  him. 

The  elder  daughter  is  there,  palefac'd,  quiet;  her  young  man 
went  back  on  her  four  years  ago;  his  folks  would  not 
let  him  marry  a  convict's  sister.  She  sits  by  the 
window,  sewing  on  the  children's  clothes,  the  clothes 
not  only  patching  up;  her  hunger  for  children  of  her 
own  invisibly  patching  up. 

The  brother  looks  up;  he  catches  her  eye,  he  fearful,  apolo- 
getic; she  smiles  back  at  him,  not  reproachfully  smil- 
ing, with  loving  pretence  of  hope  smiling — it  is  too 
much  for  him;  he  buries  his  face  in  the  folds  of  the 
mother's  black  gown. 

7.  The  best  room  of  the  house,  on  the  Sabbath  only  open'd; 

the  smell  of  horse-hair  furniture  and  mahogany  varn- 
ish; the  ornaments  on  the  what-not  in  the  corner;  the 
wax  fruit,  dusty,  sunken,  sagged  in,  consumptive- 
looking,  under  a  glass  globe,  the  sealing-wax  imitation 
of  coral ;  the  cigar  boxes  with  shells  plastered  over,  the 
perforated  card-board  motto. 

The  kitchen;  the  housewife  sprinkling  the  clothes  for  the 
fine  ironing  to-morrow — it  is  the  Third-day  night,  and 
the  plain  things  are  ready  iron'd,  now  in  cupboards, 
in  drawers  stowed  away. 

The  wife  waiting  for  the  husband — he  is  at  the  tavern,  jovial, 
carousing;  she,  alone  in  the  kitchen  sprinkling  clothes 
— the  little  red  wood  clock  with  peaked  top,  with  pen- 


606  Parody 

dulum  wagging  behind  a  pane  of  gayly  painted  glass, 
strikes  twelve. 

The  sound  of  the  husband's  voice  on  the  still  night  air — he  is 
singing:  "We  won't  go  home  until  morning!" — the 
wife  arising,  toward  the  wood-shed  hastily  going, 
stealthily  entering,  the  voice  all  the  time  coming 
nearer,  inebriate,  chantant. 

The  husband  passing  the  door  of  the  wood-shed;  the  club 
over  his  head,  now  with  his  head  in  contact;  the 
sudden  cessation  of  the  song;  the  benediction  of  peace 
over  the  domestic  foyer  temporarily  resting. 

I  sing  the  soothing  influences  of  home. 

You,  young  man,  thoughtlessly  wandering,  with  courier,  with 

guide-book  wandering, 
You  hearken  to  the  melody  of  my  steam-calliope 
Yawp ! 

H.  C.  Bunner. 


AN  OLD  SONG  BY  NEW  SINGERS 

IN  THE  ORIGINAL 

Mary  had  a  little  lamb, 
Its  fleece  was  white  as  snow, — 

And  everywhere  that  Mary   went 
The  lamb  was  sure  to  go. 

(As  Austin  Dohson  writes  it.) 

TRIOLET 

A  little  lamb  had  Mary,  sweet. 

With  a  fleece  that  shamed  the  driven  snow. 
Not  alone  Mary  went  when  she  moved  her  feet 
(For  a  little  lamb  had  Mary,  sweet), 
And  it  tagged  her  'round  with  a  pensive  bleat, 

And  wherever  she  went  it  wanted  to  go; 
A  little  lamb  had  Mary,  sweet. 

With  a  fleece  that  shamed  the  driven  snow. 


An  Old  Song  by  New  Singers  507 

{As  Mr.  Browning  has  it.) 

You  knew  her? — Mary  the  small, 
How  of  a  summer, — or,  no,  was  it  fall? 
You'd  never  have  thought  it,  never  believed. 
But  the  girl  owned  a  lamb  last  fall. 

Its  wool  was  subtly,  silky  white, 

Color  of  lucent  obliteration  of  night, 

Like  the  shimmering  snow  or — our  Clothild's  arml 

You've  seen  her  arm — her  right,  1  mean — 

The  other  she  scalded  a-washing,  I  ween — 

How  white  it  is  and  soft  and  warm? 

Ah,  there  was  soul's  heart-love,  deep,  true,  and  tender. 
Wherever  went  Mary,  the  maiden  so  slender. 
There  followed,  his  all-absorbed  passion,  inciting, 
That  passionate  lambkin — her  soul's  heart  delighting — 
Ay,  every  place  that  Mary  sought  in, 
That  lamb  was  sure  to  soon  be  caught  in. 

(As  Longfellow  might  have  done  it.) 

Fair  the  daughter  known  as  Mary, 
Fair  and  full  of  fun  and  laughter. 
Owned  a  lamb,  a  little  he-goat, 
Owned  him  all  herself  and  solely. 
White  the  lamb's  wool  as  the  Gotchi — 
The  great  Gotchi,  driving  snowstorm. 
Hither  Mary  went  and  thither. 
But  went  with  her  to  all  places. 
Sure  as  brook  to  run  to  river. 
Her  pet  lambkin  following  with  her. 

(How  Andrew  Lang  sings  it.) 

RONDEAU 

A  wonderful  lass  was  Marie,  petite. 
And  she  looked  full  fair  and  passing  sweet — 
And,  oh!  she  owned — but  cannot  you  guess 
What  pet  can  a  maiden  so  love  and  caress 
As  a  tiny  lamb  with  a  plaintive  bleat 


508  Parody 

And  mud  upon  his  dainty  feet 
And  a  gentle  veally  odour  of  meat, 

And  a  fleece  to  finger  and  kiss  and  press- 
White  as  snow? 

Wherever  she  wandered,  in  lane  or  street. 
As  she  sauntered  on,  there  at  her  feet 
She  would  find  that  lambkin — bless 
The  dear! — treading  on  her  dainty  dress, 
Her  dainty  dress,  fresh  and  neat — 
White  as  snow! 


(Mr.  Algernon  C.  Swinburne's  idea.)  , 

VILLANELLE 

Dewy-eyed  with  shimmering  hair,  '^'■ 

Maiden  and  lamb  were  a  sight  to  see, 
For  her  pet  was  white  as  she  was  fair. 

And  its  lovely  fleece  was  beyond  compare, 
And  dearly  it  loved  its  Mistress  Marie, 
Dewy-eyed,  with  shimmering  hair. 

Its  warped  wool  was  an  inwove  snare. 

To  tangle  her  fingers  in,  where  they  could  be 
(For  her  pet  was  white  as  she  was  fair). 

Lost  from  sight,  both  so  snow-white  were. 

And  the  lambkin  adored  the  maiden  wee, 
Dewy-eyed  with  shimmering  hair. 

Th'  impassioned  incarnation  of  rare, 

Of  limpid-eyed,  luscious-lipped,  loved  beauty. 
And  her  pet  was  white  as  she  was  fair. 

Wherever  she  wandered,  hither  and  there. 

Wildly  that  lambkin  sought  with  her  to  be, 
With  the  dewy-eyed,  with  shimmering  hair. 
And  a  pet  as  white  as  its  mistress  was  fair. 

.    A.  C.  Wilkie. 


Nursery  Rhymes  a  la  Mode  609 

MOEE  IMPKESSIONS 

LA  ruITE  DES  OIES 

To  outer  senses  they  are  geese, 

Dull  drowsing  by  a  weedy  pool ; 

But  try  the  impression  trick.    Cool!    Cool! 
Snow-slumbering  sentinels  of  Peace! 


Deep  silence  on  the  shadowy  flood, 

Save  rare  sharp  stridence  (that  means  "  quack  "), 

Low  amber  light  in  Ariel  track 
Athwart  the  dun  (that  means  the  mud). 


And  suddenly  subsides  the  sun. 

Bulks  mystic,  ghostly,  thrid  the  gloom 
(That  means  the  white  geese  waddling  home), 

And  darkness  reigns!     (See  how  it's  done?) 

Oscuro  Wildgoose. 


NURSEKY  RHYMES  A  LA  MODE 

{Our  nurseries  will  soon  he  too  cultured  to  admit  the  old 
rhymes  in  their  Philistine  and  uncesthetic  garl?.  They 
may  he  redressed  somewhat  on  this  model.) 

Oh,  but  she  was  dark  and  shrill, 

(Hey-de-diddle  and  hey-de-dee!) 

The  cat  <that  (on  the  first  April) 

Played  the  fiddle  on  the  lea. 
Oh,  and  the  moon  was  wan  and  bright, 

(Hey-de-diddle  and  hey-de-dee!) 

The  Cow  she  looked  nor  left  nor  right, 

But  took  it  straight  at  a  jump,  pardie! 
The  hound  did  laugh  to  see  this  thing, 

(Hey-de-diddle  and  hey-de-dee!) 
As  it  was  parlous  wantoning, 

(Ah,  good  my  gentles,  laugh  not  ye,) 


510  Parody 

And  underneath  a  dreesome  moon 

Two  lovers  fled  right  piteouslie; 
A  spooney  plate  with  a  plated  spoon, 

(Hey-de-diddle  and  hey-de-dee!) 

POSTSCRIPT 

Then  blame  me  not,  altho'  my  verse 

Sounds  like  an  echo  of  C.  S.  C. 
Since  still  they  make  ballads  that  worse  and  worse 

Savor  of  diddle  and  hey-de-dee. 

Unknown. 


A  MAUDLE-IN  BALLAD 

TO   HIS   LILY 

My  lank  limp  lily,  my  long  lithe  lily, 

My  languid  lily-love  fragile  and  thin. 

With  dank  leaves  dangling  and  flower-flap  chilly. 

That  shines  like  the  shin  of  a  Highland  gilly ! 

Mottled  and  moist  as  a  cold  toad's  skin ! 

Lustrous  and  leper-white,  splendid  and  splay! 

Art  thou  not  Utter  and  wholly  akin 

To  my  own  wan  soul  and  my  own  wan  chin. 

And  my  own  wan  nose-tip,  tilted  to  sway 

The  peacock's  feather,  sweeter  than  sin. 

That  I  bought  for  a  halfpenny  yesterday  ? 

My  long  lithe  lily,  my  languid  lily, 

My  lank  limp  lily-love,  how  shall  I  wgn — 

Woo  thee  to  wink  at  me?    Silver  lily, 

How  shall  I  sing  to  thee,  softly  or  shrilly? 

What  shall  T  weave  for  thee — what  shall  I  spin — 

Rondel,  or  rondeau,  or  virelai  ? 

Shall  I  buzz  like  a  bee  with  my  face  thrust  in 

Thy  choice,  chaste  chalice,  or  choose  me  a  tin 

Trumpet,  or  touchingly,  tenderly  play 

On  the  weird  bird-whistle,  sweeter  than  sin, 

That  I  bought  for  a  halfpenny  yesterday. 


Gillian  511 

My  languid  lily,  my  lank  limp  lily, 

My  long  lithe  lily-love,  men  may  grin — 

Say  that  I'm  soft  and  supremely  silly — 

What  care  I  while  you  whisper  stilly ; 

What  care  I  while  you  smile?    Not  a  pin! 

While  you  smile,  you  whisper — 'Tis  sweet  to  decay  ? 

I  have  watered  with  chlorodine,  tears  of  chagrin, 
The  churchyard  mould  I  have  planted  thee  in. 
Upside  down  in  an  intense  way, 
In  a  rough  red  flower-pot,  sweeter  them  sin. 
That  I  bought  for  a  halfpenny  yesterday. 

Unknown. 


GILLIAN 

Jack  and  Jille 

I  have  made  me  an  end  of  the  moods  of  maidens, 

I  have  loosed  me,  and  leapt  from  the  links  of  love; 
From  the  kiss  that  cloys  and  desire  that  deadens, 

The  woes  that  madden,  the  words  that  move. 
In  the  dim  last  days  of  a  spent  September, 

When  fruits  are  fallen,  and  flies  are  fain ; 
Before  you  forget,  and  while  I  remember, 

I  cry  as  I  shall  cry  never  again. 

Went  up  a  hylle 

Where  the  strong  fell  faints  in  the  lazy  levels 

Of  misty  meadows,  and  streams  that  stray; 
We  raised  us  at  eve  from  our  rosy  revels. 

With  the  faces  aflame  for  the  death  of  the  day; 
With  pale  lips  parted,  and  sighs  that  shiver. 

Low  lids  that  cling  to  the  last  of  love: 
We  left  the  levels,  we  left  the  river, 

And  turned  us  and  toiled  to  the  air  above. 

To  fetch  a  paile  of  water. 

By  the  sad  sweet  springs  that  have  salved  our  sorrow, 

The  fates  that  haunt  us,  the  grief  that  grips — 
Where  we  walk  not  to-day  nor  shall  walk  not  to- 
morrow— 


612  Parody 

The  wells  of  Lethe  for  wearied  lips. 
With  souls  nor  shaken  with  tears  nor  laughter, 

With  limp  knees  loosed  as  of  priests  that  pray, 
We  bowed  us  and  bent  to  the  white  well-water. 

We  dipped  and  we  drank  it  and  bore  away. 

Jack  felle  downe 

The  low  light  trembled  on  languid  lashes, 

The  haze  of  your  hair  on  my  mouth  was  blown, 
Our  love  flashed  fierce  from  its  fading  ashes, 

As  night's  dim  net  on  the  day  was  thrown. 
What  was  it  meant  for,  or  made  for,  that  minute, 

But  that  our  lives  in  delight  should  be  dipt? 
Was  it  yours,  or  my  fault,  or  fate's,  that  in  it 

Our  frail  feet  faltered,  our  steep  steps  slipt. 

And  brake  his  crowne,  and  Jille  came  tumblynge  after. 
Our  linked  hands  loosened  and  lapsed  in  sunder, 

15t)ve  from  our  limbs  as  a  shift  was  shed. 
But  paused  a  moment,  to  watch  with  wonder 

The  pale  pained  body,  the  bursten  head. 
While  our  sad  souls  still  with  regrets  are  riven. 

While  the  blood  burns  bright  on  our  bruised  brows, 
I  have  set  you  free,  and  I  stand  forgiven — 

And  now  I  had  better  go  call  my  cows. 

Unknown. 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  RUBAIYAT  OF 
OMAR  CAYENNE 

Wake!  for  the  Hack  can  scatter  into  flight 
Shakespeare  and  Dante  in  a  single  Night  !* 
The  Penny-a-Liner  is  Abroad,  and  strikes 
Our  Modern  Literature  with  blithering  Blight. 

Before  Historical  Romances  died, 

Methought  a  Voice  from  Art's  Olympus  cried, 

"  When  all  Dumas  and  Scott  is  still  for  Sale, 
Why  nod  o'er  drowsy  Tales,  by  Tyros  tried  ? " 


Extracts  *  from  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Cayenne    613 

A  Book  of  Limericks — Nonsense,  anyhow — 
Alice  in  Wonderland,  the  Purple  Cow 

Beside  me  singing  on  Fifth  Avenue — 
Ah,  this  were  Modern  Literature  enow! 


Ah,  my  Beloved,  write  the  Book  that  clears 
To-Day  of  dreary  Debt  and  sad  Arrears ; 

To-morrow! — Why,  To-Morrow  I  may  see 
My  Nonsense  popular  as  Edward  Lear's. 

And  we,  that  now  within  the  Editor's  Room 
Make  merry  while  we  have  our  little  Boom, 

Ourselves  must  we  give  way  to  next  month's  Set — 
Girls  with  Three  Names,  who  know  not  Who  from  Whom! 

As  then  the  Poet  for  his  morning  Sup 
Fills  with  a  Metaphor  his  mental  Cup, 

Do  you  devoutly  read  your  Manuscripts 
That  Someone  may,  before  you  burn  them  up! 

And  if  the  Bosh  you  write,  the  Trash  you  read, 
End  in  the  Garbage-Barrel — take  no  Heed; 

Think  that  you  are  no  worse  than  other  Scribes, 
Who  scribble  Stuff  to  meet  the  Public  Need. 

So,  when  Who's- Who  records  your  silly  Name, 
You'll  think  that  you  have  found  the  Road  to  Fame; 

And  though  ten  thousand  other  Names  are  there. 
You'll  fancy  you're  a  Genius,  just  the  Same! 

Why,  if  an  Author  can  fling  Art  aside, 
B    And  in  a  Book  of  Balderdash  take  pride, 

Were't  not  a  Shame — were't  not  a  Shame  for  him 
A  Conscientious  Novel  to  have  tried? 

I 

And  fear  not,  if  the  Editor  refuse 

Your  work,  he  has  no  more  from  which  to  choose; 

The  Literary  Microbe  shall  bring  forth 
Millions  of  Manuscripts  too  bad  to  use. 


514  Parody  ' 

The  Woman's  Touch  runs  through  our  Magazines; 
For  her  the  Home,  and  Mother-Tale,  and  Scenes 

Of  Love-and- Action,  Happy  at  the  End — 
The  same  old  Plots,  the  same  old  Ways  and  Means. 

But  if,  in  spite  of  this,  you  build  a  Plot 
Which  these  immortal  Elements  has  not, 

You  gaze  To-Day  upon  a  Slip,  which  reads, 
"  The  Editor  Regrets  "—and  such-like  Rot. 

Waste  not  your  Ink,  and  don't  attempt  to  use 
That  subtle  Touch  which  Editors  refuse; 

Better  be  jocund  at  two  cents  a  word, 
Than,  starving,  court  an  ill-requited  Muse  I 

Strange — is  it  not? — that  of  the  Authors  who 
Publish  in  England,  such  a  mighty  Few 

Make  a  Success,  though  here  they  score  a  Hit? 
The  British  Public  knows  a  Thing  or  Two! 

The  Scribe  no  question  makes  of  Verse  or  Prose, 
But  what  the  Editor  demands,  he  shows; 

And  he  who  buys  three  thousand  words  of  Drool, 
He  knows  what  People  want — you  Bet  He  knows! 

Would  but  some  winged  Angel  bring  the  News    i 
Of  Critic  who  reads  Books  that  he  Reviews, 

And  make  the  stern  Reviewer  do  as  well 
Himself,  before  he  Meed  of  Praise  refuse! 

Ah,  Love,  could  you  and  I  perchance  succeed 
In  boiling  down  the  MiHion  Books  we  read 

Into  One  Book,  and  edit  that  a  Bit — 
There'd  be  a  World's  Best  Literature  indeed ! 

Gelett  Burgess. 


Diversions  of  the  Re-Echo  Club  515 

DIVERSIONS  OF  THE  RE-ECHO  CLUB 

It  is  with  pleasure  that  we  announce  our  ability  to  offer  to 
the  pubhc  the  papers  of  the  Re-Echo  Club.  This  club,  somewhat 
after  the  order  of  the  Echo  Club,  late  of  Boston,  takes  pleasure 
injxying  to  better  what  is  done.  On  the  occasion  of  the  meeting 
of  which  the  following  gems  of  poesy  are  the  result,  the  several 
members  of  the  club  engaged  to  write  up  the  well-known  tra- 
dition of  the  Purple  Cow  in  more  elaborate  form  than  the 
quatrain  made  famous  by  Mr.  Gelett  Burgess: 

*^I  NEVER  saw  a  Purple  Cow, 

I  never  hope  to  see  one; 
But  I  can  tell  you,  anyhow, 

I'd  rather  see  than  be  one." 

The  first  attempt  here  cited  is  the  production  of  Mr.  John 
Milton : 

Hence,  vain,  deluding  cows. 

The  herd   of  folly,  without   colour  bright. 

How  little  you  delight. 

Or  fill  the  Poet's  mind,  or  songs  arouse! 

But,  hail!  thou  goddess  gay  of  feature! 

Hail,  divinest  purple  creature! 

Oh,  Cow,  thy  visage  is  too  bright 

To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight. 

And  though  I'd  like,  just  once,  to  see  thee, 

I  never,  never,  never'd  be  thee! 

MR.    p.    BYSSHE    SHELLEY  I 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit! 

Cow  thou  never  wert; 
But  in  life  to  cheer  it 

Playest  thy  full  part 
In  purple  lines  of  unpremeditated  art. 

The  pale  purple  colour 

Melts  around   thy  sight 
Like  a  star,  but  duller, 

In  the  broad  daylight. 
I'd  see  thee,  but  I  would  not  be  thee  if  I  might. 


516  Parody 

*      We  look  before  and  after 
At  cattle  as  they  browse; 
Our  most  hearty  laughter 
Something  sad  must  rouse. 
Our  sweetest  songs  are  those  that  tell  of  Purple  Cows. 

MR.    W.    WORDSWORTH: 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dee ; 
A  Cow  whom  there  were  few  to  praise 

And  very  few  to  see. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Greeting  the  smiling  East 
Is  not  so  purple,  I  must  own, 

As  that  erratic  beast. 
She  lived  unknown,  that  Cow,  and  so 

I  never  chanced  to  see; 
But  if  I  had  to  be  one,  oh, 

The  difference  to  me! 

MR.  T.  gray: 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day. 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea; 
T  watched  them  slowly  wend  their  weary  way, 

But,  ah,  a  Purple  Cow  I  did  not  see. 
Pull  many  a  cow  of  purplest  ray  serene 

Ts  haply  grazing  where  I  may  not  see; 
Full  many  a  donkey  writes  of  her,  I  ween, 

But  neither  of  these  creatures  would  I  be. 

MR.    J.    W.    RILEY : 

There,  little  Cow,  don't  cry! 
You  are  brindle  and  brown,  I  know. 
And  with  wild,  glad  hues 
Of  reds  and  blues, 
You  never  will  gleam  and  glow. 
But  though  not  pleasing  to  the  eye. 
There,  little  Cow,  don't  cry,  don't  cry. 


Diversions  of  the  Rc-Echo  Club  517 


LORD    A.     TENNYSON: 

Ask  me  no  more.    A  cow  I  fain  would  see 
Of  purple  tint,  like  to  a  sun-soaked  grape; — 
Of  purple  tint,  like  royal  velvet  cape — 

But  such  a  creature  I  would  never  be — 
Ask  me  no  more. 

MR.  R.  browning: 

All  that  I  know 

Of  a  certain  Cow 
Is   it   can   throw. 

Somewhere,   somehow, 
Now  a  dart  of  red, 

Now  a  dart  of  blue 
(That  makes  purple,   'tis  said). 

I  would  fain  see,  too. 
This  Cow  that  darkles  the  red  and  the  blue! 

•      •  MR.    J.   KEATS : 

A  cow  of  purple  is  a  joy  forever. 

Its  loveliness  increases.     I  have  never 

Seen  this  phenomenon.     Yet  ever  keep 

A  brave  lookout;  lest  I  should  be  asleep 

When  she  comes  by.    For,  though  I  would  not  be  one, 

I've  oft  imagined  'twould  be  joy  to  see  one. 

MR.    D.    G.    ROSSETTi: 

The  Purple  Cow  strayed  in  the  glade; 

(Oh,  my  soul!  but  the  milk  is  blue!) 
She  strayed  and  strayed  and  strayed  and  strayed 

(And  I  wail  and  I  cry  Wa-hoo!) 

I've  never  seen  her — nay,  not  I; 

(Oh,  my  soul!  but  the  milk  is  blue!) 
Yet  were  I  that  Cow  I  should  want  to  die. 

(And  I  wail  and  I  cry  Wa-hoo!) 

But  in  vain  my  tears  I  strew. 


518  Parody 


MR.  T.  aldrich: 

Somewhere  in  some  faked  nature  place, 

In  Wonderland,  in  Nonsense  Land, 
Two  darkling  shapes  met  face  to  face. 

And  bade  each  other  stand. 

"And  who  are  you?"  said  each  to  each; 

"  Tell  me  your  title,  anyhow." 
One  said,  "I  am  the  Papal  Bull," 

"  And  I  the  Purple  Cow." 

MR.     E.    ALLAN    POE : 

Open  then  I  flung  a  shutter, 
And,  with  many  a  flirt  and  flutter, 
In  there  stepped  a  Purple  Cow  which  gayly  tripped  around 
my  floor. 
Not  the  least  obeisance  made  she. 
Not  a  moment  stopped  or  stayed  she. 
But  with    mien   of  chorus  lady   perched  •herself   above  my 

door. 
On  a  dusty  bust  of  Dante  perched  and  sat  above  my  door. 

And  that  Purple  Cow  unflitting 

Still  is  sitting — still  is  sitting 
On  that  dusty  bust  of  Dante  just  above  my  chamber  door, 

And  her  horns  have  all  the  seeming 

Of  a  demon's  that  is  screaming, 

And  the  arc-light  o'er  her  streaming 
Casts  her  shadow  on  the  floor. 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  pool  of  Purple  shadow  on  the 

floor, 
Shall  be  lifted  Nevermore! 

MR.    H.    LONGFELLOW: 

The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 

Falls  from  the  wing  of  night 
As  ballast  is  wafted  downward 

From  an  air-ship  in  its  flight. 


Diversions  of  the  Re-Echo  Club  619 

I  dream  of  a  purple  creature 

Which  is  not  as  kine  are  now; 
And  resembles  cattle  only 

As  Cowper  resembles  a  cow. 


Such  cows  have  power  to  quiet 
Our   restless   thoughts   and   rude; 

They  come  like  the  Benedictine 
That  follows  after  food. 


MR.    A.    SWINBURNE: 

Oh,  Cow  of  rare  rapturous  vision, 

Oh,   purple,   impalpable   Cow, 
Do  you  browse  in  a  Dream  Field  Elysian, 

Are  you  purpling  pleasantly  now? 
By  the  side  of  wan  waves  do  you  languish? 

Or  in  the  lithe  lush  of  the  grove? 
While  vainly  T  search  in  my  anguish, 

0  Bovine  of  mauve! 

Despair  in  my  bosom  is  sighing, 
Hope's  star  has  sunk  sadly  to  rest; 

Though  cows  of  rare  sorts  I  am  buying. 
Not  one  breathes  a  balm  to  my  breast. 

Oh,   rapturous   rose-crowned   occasion. 
When   I   such  a  glory  might  see! 

But  a  cow  of  a  purple  persuasion 

1  never  would  be. 


MR.    A.    DOBSON: 

I'd  love   to   see 
A  Purple  Cow, 

Oh,  Goodness  me! 

I'd  love  to  see 

But  not  to  be 
One.      Anyhow, 

I'd  love  to  see 
A  Purple  Cow. 


620  Parody 


MR.  0.  herford: 

Children,   observe  the  Purple  Cow, 
You  cannot  see  her,  anyhow; 
And,  little  ones,  you  need  not  hope 
Your  eyes  will  e'er  attain  such  scope. 
But  if  you  ever  have  a  choice 
To  be,  or  see,  lift  up  your  voice 
And  choose  to  see.     For  surely  you 
Don't  want  to  browse  around  and  moo. 


MR.   H.   c.   bunner: 

Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady, 

Where  all  the  cows  are  purple? 
Ah,  woe  is  me!     I  never  hope 
On  such  a  sight  my  eyes  to  ope; 
But  as  I  sing  in  merry  glee 
Along  the  road  to  Arcady, 
Perchance  full  soon  I  may  espy 
A  Purple  Cow  come  dancing  by. 
Heigho!     I  then  shall  see  one. 
Her  horns  bedecked  with  ribbons  gay. 
Arid  garlanded  with  rosy  may, — 
A  tricksy  sight.     Still  I  must  say 
I'd  rather  see  than  be  one. 


MR.     A.     SWINBURNE: 
(Who  was  so  enthused  that  he  made  a  second  attempt.) 

Only  in  dim,  drowsy  depths  of  a  dream  do  I  dare  to  de- 
light in  deliciously  dreaming 

Cows  there  may  be  of  a  passionate  purple, — cows  of  a  vio- 
lent violet  hue; 

Ne'er  have  I  seen  such  a  sight,  I  am  certain  it  is  but  a 

demi -delirious  dreaming — 
Ne'er  may  I  happily  harbour  a  hesitant  hope  in  my  heart 

that  my  dream  may  come  true. 


Styx  River  Anthology  521 

Sad  is  my  soul,  and  my  senses  are  sobbing  so  strong  is. 

my  strenuous  spirit  to  see  one. 
Dolefully,    drearily    doomed   to    despair    as    warily   wearily 

watching  I  wait; 


Thoughts  thickly  thronging  are  thrilling  and  throbbing; 
to  see  is  a  glorious  gain — but  to  he  one! 

That  were  a  darker  and  direfuller  destiny,  that  were  a  fear- 
fuller,  frightfuller  fate! 

MR.  R.  KIPLING: 

In  the  old  ten-acre  pasture, 

Lookin'  eastward  toward  a  tree. 
There's  a  Purple  Cow  a-settin' 

And  I  know  she  thinks  of  me. 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  gum-tree. 

And  the  hay  is  in  the  mow, 
And  the  cow-bells  are  a-calling 

"  Come  and  see  a  Purple  Cow ! " 

But  I  am  not  going  ~now. 
Not  at  present,  anyhow, 
For  I  am  not  fond  of  purple,  and 
I  can't  abide  a  cow; 
No,  I  shall  not  go  to-day. 
Where  the  Purple  Cattle  play. 
But  I  think  I'd  rather  see  one 
Than  to  be  one,  anyhow. 

Carolyn  Wells, 

STYX  RIVER  ANTHOLOGY 

ALICE  BEN  BOLT 

I  couldn't  help  weeping  with  delight 

When  the  boys  kissed  me  and  called  me  sweet. 

It  was  foolish,  I  know. 

To  weep  when  I  was  glad; 

But  I  was  young  and  I  wasn't  very  well. 

I  was  nervous,  weak,  anemic, 


522  Parody 

A  sort  of  human  mimosa;  and  I  hadn't  much  brains, 
And   my  mind  wouldn't  jell,   anyhow. 
That's  why  I  trembled  with  fear  when  they  frowned. 
But  they  didn't  frown  often, 
For  I  was  sweetly  pretty  and  most  pliable. 
But,  oh,  the  grim  joke  of  asking  Ben  Bolt  if  he  remem- 
bered me! 
Me! 

Why,  it  was  Ben  Bolt  who — 

Well,  never  mind.     He  paid  for  this  granite  slab, 
And  it's  as  stylish  as  any  in  the  church  yard. 
But  I  wish  I  had  a  more  becoming  shroud. 


THE   BLESSED   DAMOZEL 

I  was  one  of  those  long,  lanky,  loose-jointed  girls 

Who  fool  people  into  believing 

They  are  willowy  and  psychic  and  mysterious. 

I  was  always  hungry;  I  never  ate  enough  to  satisfy  me. 

For  fear  I'd  get  fat. 

Oh,  how  little  the  world  knows  of  the  bitterness  of  life 

To  a  woman  who  tries  to  keep  thin ! 

Many  thought  I  died  of  a  broken  heart. 

But  it  was  an  empty  stomach. 

Then  Mr.  Rossetti  wrote  about  me. 

He    described    me   all   dolled    up    in    some   ladies'    wearing 

apparel 
That  I  wore  at  a  fancy  ball. 

I  had  fasted  all  day,  and  had  had  my  hair  marcelled 
And  my  face  corrected. 
And  I  was  a  dream. 

But  he  seemed  to  think  he  really  saw  me, 
Seemed  to  think  I  appeared  to  him  after  my  death. 
Oh,  fudge! 
Those  spiritualists   are  always  seeing  things! 

ENOCH    ARDEN 

Yes,  it  was  the  eternal  triangle, 

Only  they  didn't  call  it  that  then. 

Of  course  everybody  thought  I  was  all  broken  up 


Styx  River  Anthology  623 

When  I  found  Annie  wed  to  Philip, 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 

I  didn't  care  so  much; 

For  she  was  one  of  those  self -starting  weepers. 

And  a  man  can't  stand  blubbering  all  the  time. 

And,  then,  of  course, 

When  I  was  off  on  that  long  sea  trip — 

Oh,  well,  you  know  what  sailors  are. 


LITTLE  EVA 

To  be  honest, 

I  didn't  mind  dying. 

For  I  had 

One  of  these  here  now 

Dressy  deaths. 

It  was  staged,  you  know. 

And,  like  Samson, 

My  death  brought  down  the  house. 

I  was  a  smarty  kid. 

And  they  were  less  frequent  then  than  later. 

Oh,  I  was  the  Mary  Pickford  of  my  time. 

And  I  rest  content 

With  my  notoriety. 

LUOY 

Yes,  I  am  in  my  grave. 

And  you  bet  it  makes  a  difference  to  him! 

For  we  were  to  be  married, — at  least,  I  think  we  were. 

And  he'd  made  me  promise  to  deed  him  the  house. 

But  I  had  to  go  and  get  appendicitis. 

And  they  took  me  to  the  hospital. 

It  was  a  nice  hospital,  clean. 

And  Tables  Reserved  For  Ladies. 

Well,  my  heart  gave  out. 

He  came  and  stood  over  my  grave. 

And  registered  deep  concern. 

And  now,  he's  going  round  with  that 

Hen-minded   Hetty  What's-her-name ! 

Her  with  her  Whistler's  Mother  and  her  Baby  Stuart 


524  Parody 

On  her  best-room  wall! 

And  I  hate  her,  and  I'm  glad  she  squints. 

Well,  I  suppose  1  lived  my  life, 

But  it  was  Life  in  name  only. 

And  I'm  mad  at  the  whole  world! 


OPHELIA 

No,  it  wasn't  suicide, 

But  I  had  heard  so  much  of  those  mud  baths, 

I  thought  I'd  try  one. 

Ugh!  it  was  a  mess! 

Weeds,  slime,  and  tangled  vines!     Oh,  me! 

Had  I  been  Annette  Kellerman 

Or  even  a  real  mermaid, 

I  had  lived  to  tell  the  tale. 

But  I  slid  down  and  under, 

And  so  Will  Shaxpur  told  it  for  me. 

Just  as  well. 

But  I  think  my  death  scene  is  unexcelled 

By  any  in  cold  print. 

It  beats  that  scrawny,  red-headed  old  thing  of  Tom  Hood's 

All  hollow! 


OASABIANOA 

I  played  to  the  Grand  Stand! 

Sure  I  did, 

And  I  made  good. 

Ain't  I  in  McGuffey's  Third  Reader? 

Don't  they  speak  pieces  about  me  Friday  afternoons? 

Don't  everybody  know  the  first  two  lines  of  my  story,— 

And  no  more? 

Say,  I  was  there  with  the  goods. 

Wasn't  I? 

And  it  paid. 

But  I  wish  Movin'  Pitchers  had  been  invented  then! 


Styx  River  Anthology  625 

ANNABEL    LEE 

They  may  say  all  they  like 

About  germs  and  micro-crocuses, — 

Or  whatever  they  are! 

But  my  set  opinion  is, — 

If  you  want  to  get  a  good,  old-fashioned  chills  and  fever, 

Just  poke  around 

In  a  damp,  messy  place  by  the  sea. 

Without  rubbers  on.  • 

A  good  cold  wind. 

Blowing  out  of  a  cloud,  by  night. 

Will  give  you  a  harder  shaking  ague 

Than  all  the  bacilli  in  the  Basilica. 

It  did  me. 

ANGUS    MCPHAIRSON 

Oh,  of  course. 

It's  always  some  dratted  petticoat! 

Just  because  that  little  flibbertigibbet,  Annie  Laurie 

Had  a  white  throat  and  a  blue  e'e, 

She  played  the  very  devil  with  my  peace  of  mind. 

She'd  dimple  at  me 

Till  I  was  aboot  crazy; 

And  then  laugh  at  me  through  her  dimples! 

She  was  my  bespoke. 

And  I'd  beg  her  to  have  the  banns  called, — 

But  there  was  no  pinning  her  down. 

Well,  she  was  so  bonny 

That  like  a  fool,  I  said  I'd  lay  me  doon 

And  dee  for  her. 

And, — like  a  fool, — 

I  did. 

Carolyn  Wells, 


i 


626  Parody 


ANSWER  TO  MASTER  WITHER'S  SONG,    "SHALL 
I,   WASTING   IN    DESPAIR?" 

Shall  I,  mine  affections  slack, 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman's  black? 
Or  myself,  with  care  cast  down, 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman  brown? 
Be  she  blacker, than  the  night. 
Or  the  blackest  jet  in  sight! 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 

What  care  I  how  black  she  be? 


Shall  my  foolish  heart  be  burst, 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman's  curst? 
Or  a  thwarting  hoggish  nature 
Joined  in  as  bad  a  feature? 
Be   she  curst  or  fiercer  than 
Brutish  beast,  or  savage  man! 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me. 
What  care  I  how  curst  she  be? 


Shall  a  woman's  vices  make 
Me  her  vices  quite  forsake? 
Or  her  faults  to  me  made  known, 
Make  me  think  that  I  have  none? 
Be  she  of  the  most  accurst, 
And  deserve  the  name  of  worst! 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  bad  she  be? 


'Cause  her  fortunes  seem  too  low. 
Shall  I  therefore  let  her  go? 
He  that  bears  an  humble  mind 
And  with  riches  can  be  kind, 
Think  how  kind  a  heart  he'd   have. 
If  he  were  some  servile  slave! 
And  if  that  same  mind  I  see 
What  care  I  how  poor  she  be? 


Song  of  the  Springtide  .  627 

Poor,  or  bad,  or  curst,  or  black, 
I  will  ne'er  the  more  be  slack! 
If  she  hate  me  (then  believe!) 
She  shall  die  ere  I  will  grieve! 
If  she  like  me  when  I  woo 
I  can  like  and  love  her  too! 

If  that  she  be  fit  for  me! 

What  care  I  what  others  be? 

Ben  Jonson. 


SONG  OF  THE  SPRINGTIDE 

O  Season  supposed  of  all  free  flowers, 
Made  lovely  by  light  of  the  sun, 

Of  garden,  of  field,  and  of  tree-flowers, 
Thy  singers  are   surely  in  fun ! 

Or  what  is  it  wholly  unsettles 
Thy  sequence  of  shower  and  shine, 

And  maketh  thy  pushings  and   petals 
To  shrivel  and  pine? 


Why  is  it  that  o'er  the  wild  waters 
That  beastly   North-Easter  still  blows, 

Dust-dimming  the  eyes  of  our  daughters, 
Blue-nipping  each  nice  little  nose? 

Why  is  it  these  sea-skirted  islands  ^ 

Are  plagued  with  perpetual  chills. 

Driving  men  to  Italian  or  Nile-lands 
From  Albion's  ills? 


Happy  he,  O  Springtide,  who  hath  found  thee, 

All   sunlit,  in  luckier  lands, 
With  thy  garment  of  greenery  round  thee. 

And  belted  with  blossomy  bands. 
From  us  by  the  blast  thou  art  drifted. 

All  brag  of  thy  beauties  is  bosh; 
When  the  songs  of  thy  singers  are  sifted. 
They  simply  won't  wash. 


528  Parody 

What  lunatic  lune,  what  vain  vision, 
Thy  laureate,  Springtide,  may  move 

To  sing  thee, — oh,  bitter  derision! 
A  season  of  laughter  and  love? 

You  make  a  man  mad  beyond  measure, 
O  Spring,  and  thy  lauders  like  thee: 

Thy- flowers,  thy  pastimes  and  pleasures, 
Are   fiddlededee ! 


Unknown. 


THE  VILLAGE  CHOIR 

Half  a  bar,  half  a  bar. 
Half  a  bar  onward! 
Into  an  awful  ditch 
Choir  and  precentor  hitch, 
Into  a  mess  of  pitch, 

They  led  the  Old  Hundred. 
Trebles  to  right  of  them, 
Tenors  to  left  of  them, 
Basses  in  front  of  them. 

Bellowed  and  thundered. 
Oh,  that  precentor's  look, 
When  the  sopranos  took 
Their  own  time  and  hook 

From  the  Old  Hundred! 
Screeched  all  the  trebles  here. 
Boggled  the  tenors  there, 
Raising  the  parson's   hair. 

While  his  mind  wandered; 
Theirs  not  to   reason   why 
This  psalm  was  pitched  too  high 
Theirs  but  to  gasp  and  cry 

Out  the  Old  Hundred. 
Trebles  to  right  of  them. 
Tenors  to  left  of  them, 
Basses  in  front  of  them. 

Bellowed  and  thundered. 


My  Foe  629 


Stormed  they  with  shout  and  yell. 
Not  wise  they  sang  nor  well, 
Drowning  the  sexton's  bell, 
While  all  the  church  wondered. 

Dire  the  percenter's  glare. 
Flashed  his  pitchfork  in  air 
Sounding  fresh  keys  to  bear 

Out  the  Old  Hundred. 
Swiftly  he  turned  his  back, 
Eeached  he  his  hat  from  rack. 
Then  from  the  screaming  pack. 

Himself  he  sundered. 
Tenors  to  right  of  him. 
Tenors  to  left  of  him, 
Discords  behind  him, 

Bellowed   and  thundered. 
Oh,  the  wild  howls  they  wrought: 
Right  to  the  end  they  fought! 
Some  tune  they  sang,  but  not, 

Not  the  Old  Hundred. 


Unknown. 


MY  FOE 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquaint, 
I'd   siller  in  my  pockets,  John, 

Which  noo,  ye  ken,  I  want; 
I  spent  it  all  in  treating,  John, 

Because  I  loved  you  so; 
But  mark  ye,  how  you've  treated  me, 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe. 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John, 

We've  been  ower  lang  together, 
Sae  ye  maun  tak'  ae  road,  John, 

And  I  will  take  anither; 
For  we  maun  tumble  down,  John, 

If  hand  in  hand  we  go; 
And  I  shall  hae  the  bill  to  pay, 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe. 


530  Parody 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John, 

Ye've  blear'd  out  a'  my  een, 
And  lighted  up  my  nose,  John, 

A   fiery  sign   atween ! 
My  hands  wi'  palsy  shake,  John, 

My  locks  are  like  the  snow; 
Ye'-ll  surely  be  the  death   of  me, 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe. 


John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John, 

'Twas  love  to  you,  I  ween, 
That  gart  me  rise  sae  ear',  John, 

And  sit  sae  late  at  e'en; 
The  best  o'  friens  maun  part,  John, 

It  grieves  me  sair,  ye  know; 
But  "  we'll  nae  mair  to  yon  town," 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe. 


John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John, 

Ye've  wrought  me  muckle  skaith; 
And  yet  to  part  wi'  you,  John, 

I  own  I'm  unko'  laith; 
But  I'll  join  the  temperance  ranks,  John, 

Ye  needna  say  me  no; 
It's  better  late  than  ne'er  do  weel, 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe. 

Unknown. 


NUKSERY  SONG  IN  PIDGIN  ENGLISH 

SiNGEE  a  songee  sick  a  pence, 

Pockee  muchee  lye; 
Dozen  two  time  blackee  bird 

Cookee  in  e  pie. 
When  him  cutee  topside 

Birdee  bobbery  sing; 
Himee  tinkee   nicey  dish 

Setee  force  King! 


I 


Father  William  631 


Kingee  in  a  talkee  loom 

Countee  muchee  money; 
Queeny  in  e  kitchee, 

Chew-chee  breadee  honey. 
Servant   galo    shakee, 

Hangee  washee  clothes; 
Cho-chop  comee  blackie  bird, 

Nipee  off  her  nose! 


FATHER  WILLIAM 


Unknown. 


"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"And  your  nose  has  a  look  of  surprise; 
Your  eyes  have  turned  round  to  the  back  of  your  head, 

And  you  live  upon  cucumber  pies." 
"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,"  the  old  man  replied, 

"  And  it  comes  from  employing  a  quack, 
Who  said  if  I  laughed  when  the  crocodile  died 

I  should  never  have  pains  in  my  back." 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"  And  your  legs  always  get  in  your  way ; 
You  use  too  much  mortar  in  mixing  your  bread, 

And  you  try  to  drink  timothy  hay." 
"  Very  true,  very  true,"  said  the  wretched  old  man, 

"  Every  word  that  you  tell  me  is  true ; 
And  it's  caused  by  my  having  my  kerosene  can 

Painted  red  where  it  ought  to  be  blue." 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said, 

"  And  your  teeth  are  beginning  to  freeze, 
Your  favorite  daughter  has  wheels  in  her  head, 

And  the  chickens  are  eating  your  knees." 
"  You  are  right,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  cannot  deny, 

That  my  troubles  are  many  and  great, 
But  I'll  butter  my  ears  on  the  Fourth  of  July, 

And  then  I'll  be  able  to  skate." 

j|  Unknown, 


i 


532  Parody 


A  POE-'EM  OF  PASSION 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

On  an  island  near  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  lived  whom  you  mightn't  know 

By  the  name  of  Cannibalee; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 

Than  a  passionate  fondness  for  me. 

I  was  a  child,  and  she  was  a  child — 

Tho'  her  tastes  were  adult  Feejee — 
But  she  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love. 

My  yearning  Cannibalee; 
With  a  love  that  could  take  me  roast  or  fried 

Or  raw,  as  the  case  might  be. 

And  that  is  the  reason  that  long  ago, 

In   that  island  near  the  sea, 
I  had  to  turn  the  tables  and  eat 

My  ardent  Cannibalee — 
Not  really  because  I  was  fond  of  her, 

But  to  check  her  fondness  for  me. 

But  the  stars  never  rise  but  I  think  of  the  size 

Of  my  hot-potted  Cannibalee, 
And  the  moon  never   stares   but   it  brings   me  night- 
mares 

Of  my  spare-rib  Cannibalee ; 
And  all  the  night-tide  she  is  restless  inside, 
Is  n^y  still  indigestible  dinner-belle  bride, 
In  her  pallid  tomb,  which  is  Me, 
In  her  solemn  sepulcher,  Me. 

C.  F.  Lummis. 


How  the  Daughters  Come  Down  at  Dunoon      533 


HOW  THE  DAUGHTERS  COME  DOWN  AT  DUNOON 

How  do  the  daughters 
Come  down  at  Dunoon? 
Daintily, 
Tenderly, 
Fairily, 
Gingerly, 
Glidingly, 
Slidingly, 
Slippingly, 
Skippingly, 
Trippingly, 
Clippingly, 
Bumpingly, 
Thumpingly, 
Stumpingly, 
Clumpingly, 
Starting   and   bolting, 
And  darting  and  jolting, 
And   tottering   and   staggering, 
And  lumbering  and  slithering, 
And  hurrying  and  scurrying. 
And  worrying  and  flurrying, 
And  rushing  and  leaping  and  crushing  and 'creeping; 
Feathers  a-flying  all — ^bonnets  untying  all — 
Petticoats  rapping  and  flapping  and  slapping  all, 
Crinolines  flowing  and  blowing  and  showing  all 
Balmorals,  dancing  and  glancing,  entrancing  all; 
Feats   of    activity — 
Nymphs  on  declivity — 
Mothers  in  extacies — 
Fathers   in   vextacies — 
Lady-loves  whisking  and  frisking  and  clinging  on 
True-lovers  puffing  and  blowing  and  springing  on. 
Dashing  and  clashing  and  shying  and  flying  on. 
Blushing  and  flushing  and  wriggling  and  giggling  on, 
Teasing  and  pleasing  and  squeezing  and  wheezing  on, 
Everlastingly  falling  and  bawling  and  sprawling  on, 
Tumbling  and  rumbling  and  grumbling  and  stumbling  on. 


534»  Parody 


Any  fine  afternoon, 
About  July  or  June — 
That's  just  how  the  Daughters 
Come  down  at  Dunoon ! 

H.  Cholmondeky  Pennell. 


TO  AN  IMPORTUNATE  HOST 

DURING    DINNER    AND    AFTER    TENNYSON 

Ask  me  no  more:  IVe  had  enough  Chablis; 
The  wine  may  come  again,  and  take  the  shape. 
From  glass  to  glass,  of  "Mountain"  or  of  "Cape;" 

But,  my  dear  boy,  when  I  have  answered  thee, 

Ask   me  no   niore. 


Ask  me  no  more:  what  answer  should  I  give, 
I  love  not  pickled  pork  nor  partridge  pie; 
I  feel  if  I  took  whisky  I  should  die! 

Ask  me  no  more — for  I  prefer  to  live: 

Ask  me  no   more. 


Ask  me  no  more:  unless  my  fate  is  sealed, 
And  I  have  striven  against  you  all  in  vain. 
Let  your  good  butler  bring  me  Hock  again: 
Then  rest,  dear  boy.     If  for  this  once  I  yield. 

Ask  me  no   more! 

Unknown. 


CREMATION 

BY    A    BURNING    ADMIRER    OF    SIR    HENRY    THOMPSON 

To  Urn,  or  not  to  Urn  ?  that  is  the  question : 
Whether  'tis  nobler  for  our  frames  to  suffer 
The  shows  and  follies  of  outrageous  custom. 
Or  to  take  fire — against  a  sea  of  zealots — < 


An  Imitation  of  Wordsworth 


535 


And  by  consuming,  end  them?    To  Urn — to  keep — 

No  more:   and  while  we  keep,   to  say  we  end 

Contagion   and    the   thousand   graveyard   ills 

That  flesh  is  heir  to — 'tis  a  consume-ation 

Devoutly  to  be  wished!     To  burn — to  keep — 

To  keep!    Perchance  to  lose — aye,  there's  the  rub: 

For  in  the  course  of  things  what  duns  may  come, 

Or  who  may  shuffle  off  our  Dresden  urn,  V 

Must  give  us  pause.     There's  the  respect 

That  makes   inter-i-ment  of  so  long  use. 

For  who  would  have  the  pall  and  plumes  of  hire. 

The  tradesman's  prize — a  proud  man's  obsequies. 

The  chaffering  for  graves,  the  legal  fee, 

The  cemetery  beadle  and  the  rest. 

When  he  himself  might  his  few  ashes  make 

With  a  mere  furnace?    Who  would  tombstones  bear. 

And  lie  beneath  a  lying  epitaph, 

But  that  the  dread  of  simmering  after  death — 

That  uncongenial  furnace  from  whose  burn 

No  incremate  returns — weakens  the  will. 

And  makes  us  rather  bear  the  graves  we  have 

Than  fly  to  ovens  that  we  know  not  of? 

This,  Thompson,  does  make  cowards  of  us  all. 

And  thus  the  wisdom  of  incineration 

Is  thick-laid  o'er  with  the  pale  ghost  of  nought. 

And  incremators  of  great  pith   and   courage 

With  this  regard  their  faces  turn  awry, 

And  shudder  at  cremation. 

William  Sawyer, 


AN  IMITATION  OF  WORDSWOKTH 


There  is  a  river  clear  and  fair, 
'Tis  neither  broad  nor  narrow; 
It  winds  a  little  here  and  there — 
It  winds  about  like  any  hare; 
And  then  it  takes  as  straight  a  course 
As  on  the  turnpike  road  a  horse, 
Or  through  the  air  an  arrow. 


536  Parody 

The  trees  that  grow  upon  the  shore. 
Have  grown  a  hundred  years  or  more; 

So   long   there   is   no  knowing. 
Old  Daniel  Dobson  does  not  know 
When   first  these   trees   began   to   grow; 
But  still  they  grew,  and  grew,  and  grew, 
As  if  they'd  nothing  else  to  do. 

But  ever  to  be  growing. 


The  impulses*  of  air  and  sky 

Have  rear'd  their  stately  heads  so  high, 

And  clothed  their  boughs  with  green; 
Their  leaves  the  dews  of  evening  quaff, — 

And  when  the  wind  blows  loud  and  keen, 
I've  seen  the  jolly  timbers  laugh, 

And  shake  their  sides  with  merry  glee — 

Wagging  their  heads  in  mockery. 

Fix'd  are  their  feet  in  solid  earth, 

Where  winds  can  never  blow; 
But  visitings  of  deeper  birth 

Have  reach'd  their  roots  below. 
For  they  have  gain'd  the  river's  brink, 
And  of  the  living  waters  drink. 

There's  little  Will,  a  five  years  child — 

He  is  my  youngest  boy: 
To  look  on  eyes  so  fair  and  wild, 

It  is  a  very  joy: — 
He  hath  conversed  with  sun  and  shower 
And  dwelt  with  every  idle  flower, 

As  fresh  and  gay  as  them. 
He  loiters  with   the  briar  rose,—: 
The  blue-belles  are  his  play-fellows, 

That  dance  upon  their  slender  stem. 

And  I  have  said,  my  little  Will, 
Why  should   not  he  continue  still 
A  thing  of  Nature's  rearing? 


The  Lay  of  the  Love-Lorn  637 

A  thing  beyond  the  world's  control — 
A  living  vegetable  soul, — 
No  human  sorrow  fearing. 

It  were  a  blessed  sight  to  see 
That  child  become  a  Willow-tree, 

His  brother  trees   among. 
He'd  be  four  times  as  tall  as  me. 

And  live  three  times  as  long. 

Catharine  M.  Fanshawe, 


THE   LAY   OF   THE   LOVE-LORN 


Comrades,  you  may  pass  the  rosy.    With  permission  of  the 

chair, 
I  shall  leave  you  for  a  little,  for  I'd  like  to  take  the  air. 


Whether  'twas  the  sauce  at  dinner,  or  that  glass  of  ginger- 
beer. 
Or  these  strong  cheroots,  I  know  not,  but  I  feel  a  little  queer. 


Let  me  go.     Now,  Chuckster,  blow  me,  'pon  my  soul,  this 

is  too  bad! 
When  you  want  me,  ask  the  waiter,  he  knows  where  I'm 

to  be  had! 


Whew!     This  is  a  great  relief  now!    Let  me  but  undo  my 

stock ; 
Resting  here  beneath  the  porch,  my  nerves  will  steady  like 

a  rock. 


In  my  ears  I  hear  the  singing  of  a  lot  of  favourite  tunes — 
Bless  my  heart,  how  very  odd !    Why,  surely,  there's  a  brace 
of  moons  I 


538  Parody 

See — the  stars!     How  bright  they  twinkle,  winking  with  a 

frosty  glare, 
Like  my  faithless  cousin  Amy  when  she  drove  me  to  despair. 


Oh,  my  cousin,  spider-hearted!  Oh,  my  Amy!  No,  con- 
found it! 

I  must  wear  the  mournful  willow — all  around  my  hat  I've 
bound  it. 

Falser  than   the   Bank   of  Fancy,   frailer  than   a   shilling 

glove. 
Puppet  to  a  father's  anger,  minion  to  a  nabob's  love! 

Is  it  well  to  wish  thee  happy?     Having  known  me,  could 

you  ever 
Stoop  to  marry  half  a  heart,  and  little  more  than  half  a 

liver? 

Happy!     Damme!     Thou  shalt  lower  to  his  level  day  by 

<3ay. 
Changing  from  the  best  of  china  to  the  commonest  of  clay. 

As  the  husband  is,  the  wife  is.    He  is  stomach-plagued  and 

old, 
And  his  curry  soups  will  make  thy  cheek  the  colour  of  his 

gold. 

When  his  feeble  love  is  sated,  he  will  hold  thee  surely  then 
Something  lower  than  his  hookah,  something  less  than  his 
cayenne. 

What  is  this?    His  eyes  are  pinky.    Was't  the  claret?    Oh, 

no,  no — 
Bless  your  soul,  it  was  the  salmon — salmon  always  makes 

him  so. 

Take  him   to   thy   dainty   chamber,    soothe  him   with    thy 

lightest  fancies, 
He  will  understand  thee,  won't  he — ^pay  thee  with  a  lover's 

glances  ? 


The  Lay  of  the  Love-Lorn  639 

Louder  than   the  loudest  trumpet,  harsh  as  harshest  ophi- 

cleide, 
Nasal  respirations  answer  the  endearments  of  his  bride. 

Sweet   response,   delightful   music!     Gaze   upon   thy   noble 

charge 
Till  the  spirit  fill  thy  bosom  that  inspired  the  meek  Lafarge. 

Better  thou  wert  dead  before  me,  better,  better  that  I  stood 
Looking   on   thy   murdered   body,   like  the   injured  Daniel 
Good  I 

Better  thou  and  I  were  lying,   cold  and  limber-stiff  and 

dead, 
With   a  pan   of  burning  charcoal   underneath   our   nuptial 

bed! 

Cursed  be  the  Bank  of  England's  notes,  that  tempt  the  soul 

to  sin! 
Cursed  be  the  want  of  acres — doubly  cursed  the  want  of 

tin! 

Cursed  be  the  marriage  contract,  that  enslaved  thy  soul  to 

greed ! 
Cursed  be  the  sallow  lawyer,  that  prepared  and  drew  the 

deed !  • 

Cursed  be  his  foul  apprentice,  who  the  loathsome  fees  did 
earn ! 

Cursed  be  the  clerk  and  parson — cursed  be  the  whole  con- 
cern ! 

Oh,  'tis  well  that  I  should  bluster;  much  Vm  like  to  make 

of  that. 
Better  comfort  have  I  found  in  singing  "  All  Around  My 

Hat." 

But  that  song,  so  wildly  plaintive,  palls  upon  my  British 

ears. 
'Twill  not  do  to  pine  for  ever :  I  am  getting  up  in  years. 


540  Parody 

Can't  I  turn  the  honest  penny,  scribbling  for  the  weekly 
press. 

And  in  writing  Sunday  libels  drown  my  private  wretched- 
ness? I 

Oh,  to  feel  the  wild  pulsation  that  in  manhood's  dawn  I 

knew, 
When  my   days   were   all  before  me,   and   my   years   were 

twenty-two ; 

When  I  smoked  my  independent  pipe  along  the  Quadrant  j 

wide, 
With  the  many  larks  of  London  flaring  up  on  every  side; 

When  I  went  the  pace  so  wildly,  caring  little  what  might 

come. 
Coffee-milling  care  and  sorrow,  with  a  nose-adapted  thumb; 

Felt  the  exquisite  enjoyment,  tossing  nightly  off,  oh,  heavens  1 
Brandy  at  the  Cider  Cellars,  kidneys  smoking-hot  at  Evans' ;^ 

Or  in  the  Adelphi  sitting,  half  in  rapture,  half  in  tears, 
Saw  the  glorious  melodrama  conjure  up  the  shades  of  years- 
Saw  Jack  Sheppard,  noble  stripling,  act  his  wondrous  feats: 

again,  | 

Snapping   Newgate's*  bars   of   iron,   like  an   infant's   daisy  I 

chain ;  | 

Might  was  right,  and  all  the  terrors  which  had  held  the 

world  in  awe 
Were  despised  and  prigging  prospered,  spite  of  Laurie,  spite 

of  law. 

In  such  scenes  as  these  I  triumphed,  ere  my  passion's  edge 

was  rusted,  | 

And  my  cousin's  cold  refusal  left  me  very  much  disgusted!? 

Since,  my  heart  is  sore  and  withered,  and  I  do  not  care  aj 

curse  ; 

Whether  worse  shall  be  the  better,  or  the  better  be  the  worse,  j 


The  Lay  of  the  Lovc-Lorn  541 

Hark!   my   merry   comrades   call   me,   bawling   for   another 

jorum; 
They  would  mock  me  in  derision,  should  I  thus  appear  before 


Womankind  no  more  shall  vex  me,   such,   at  least,  as  go 

arrayed 
In  the  most  expensive  satins,  and  the  newest  silk  brocade. 

ril  to  Afric,  lion-haunted,  where  the  giant  forest  yields 
Rarer  robes  and  finer  tissue  than  are  sold  at  Spitalfields. 

Or  to  burst  all  chains  of  habit,  flinging  habit's  self  aside, 
I  shall  walk  the  tangled  jungle  in  mankind's  primeval  pride; 

Feeding  on  the  luscious  berries  and  the  rich  casava  root, 
liOts  of  dates  and  lots  of  guavas,  clusters  of  forbidden  fruit. 

Never  comes  the  trader  thither,  never  o'er  the  purple  main 
Sounds   the   oath   of  British  commerce,   or   the"  accents   of 
Cockaigne. 

There,  methinks,  would  be  enjoyment,  where  no  envious  rule 

prevents ; 
Sink  the  steamboats!     Cuss  the  railways!     Rot,  oh,  rot  the 

Three  per  Cents ! 

There  the  passions,  cramped  no  longer,  shall  have  space  to 

breathe,  my  cousin! 
I  will  take  some  savage  woman — nay,  I'll  take  at  least  a 

dozen. 

There  I'll  rear  my  young  mulattoes,  as  no  Bond  Street  brats 

are  reared: 
They  shall  dive  for  alligators,  catch  the  wild  goats  by  the 

beard. 

Whistle  to  the  cockatoos,  and  mock  the  hairy-faced  baboon, 
Worship  mighty  Mumbo  Jumbo,  in   the  mountains  of  the 
Moon. 


542  Parody 

I,  myself,  in  far  Timbuctoo,  leopard's  blood  will  daily  quaff, 
Ride  a-tiger-hunting,  mounted  on  a  thorough-bred  giraffe. 

Fiercely  shall  I  shout  the  war-whoop,  as  some  sullen  stream 
he  crosses, 

Startling  from  their  noon-day  slumbers  iron-bound  rhinoc- 
eroses. 

Fool !    Again,  the  dream,  the  fancy !    But  I  know  my  words 

are  mad. 
For  I  hold  the  gray  barbarian  lower  than  the  Christian  cad. 

I,  the  swell,  the  city  dandy!     I  to  seek  such 'horrid  places, 
I  to  haunt  with  squalid  Negroes,  blubber-lips,  and  monkey 
faces ! 

I  to  wed  with  Coromantees!     I,  who  managed — very  near — 
To  secure  the  heart  and  fortune  of  the  widow  Shillibeer! 

Stuff  and  nonsense!     Let  me  never   fling  a  single  chance 

away.  • 
Maids  ere  now,  I  know,  have  loved  me,  and  another  maiden     ; 

may.  I 

i 

Morning  Post   (The  Times  won't  trust  me),  help  me,  as  T 

know  you  can ;  . 
I  will  pen  an  advertisement — that's  a  never-failing  plan: 

"Wanted — By  a  bard  in  wedlock,  some  young  interesting    ; 
woman. 

Looks  are  not  so  much  an  object,  if  the  shiners  be  forth- 
coming !  I 

"  Hymen's  chains,  the  advertiser  vows,  shall  be  but  silken    I 

fetters. 

Please  address  to  A.  T.,  Chelsea.  N.B. — You  must  pay  the 

letters." 

That's  the  sort  of  thing  to  do  it.    Now  I'll  go  and  taste  the 

balmy. 
Rest  thee  with  thy  yellow  nabob,  spider-hearted  cousin  Amy! 

Aytoun  and  Martin. 


Only  Seven  643 


ONLY  SEVEN 

A   PASTORAL   STORY   AFTER   WORDSWORTH 

I  marvell'd  why  a  simple  child, 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 

Should  utter  groans  so  very  wild, 
And  look  as  pale  as  Death. 

Adopting  a  parental  tone, 

I  ask'd  her  why  she  cried; 
The  damsel  answered  with  a  groan, 

"  I've  got  a  pain  inside! 

"  I  thought  it  would  have  sent  me  mad 

Last  night  about  eleven." 
Said  I,  "What  is  it  makes  you  bad?" 
How  many  apples  have  you  had?" 

She  answered,  "  Only  seven !  " 

"  And  are  you  sure  you  took  no  more, 

My  little  maid?"  quoth  I; 
"  Oh,  please,  sir,  mother  gave  me  four. 

But  they  were  in  a  pie ! " 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  I  stammer'd  out, 
"  Of  course  you've  had  eleven." 

The  maiden  answer'd  with  a  pout, 
"  I  ain't  had  more  nor  seven !  " 

I  wonder'd  hugely  what  she  meant, 
And  said,  "  I'm  bad  at  riddles; 

But  I  know  where  little  girls  are  sent 
For  telling  taradiddles. 

"  Now,  if  you  won't  reform,"  said  I, 
"You'll  never  go  to  Heaven." 

But  all  in  vain;  each  time  I  try, 

That  little  idiot  makes  reply, 
"  I  ain't  had  more  nor  seven  I  " 


544  Parody 

POSTSCRIPT 

To  borrow  Wordsworth's  name  was  wrong, 

Or  slightly  misapplied; 
And  so  I'd  better  call  my  song, 

"  Lines  after  Ache-Inside." 

Henry  S,  Leigh. 


'TWAS  EVER  THUS 

I  NEVER  rear'd  a  young  gazelle, 

(Because,  you  see,  I  never  tried) ; 
But  had  it  known  and  loved  me  well, 

No  doubt  the  creature  would  have  died. 
My  rich  and  aged  Uncle  John 

Has  known  me  long  and  loves  me  well 
But  still  persists  in  living  on — 

I  would  he  were  a  young  gazelle. 

I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower ; 

But,  if  I  had,  I  beg  to  say 
The  blight,  the  wind,  the  sun,  or  shower 

Would  soon  have  withered  it  away. 
Fve  dearly  loved  my  Uncle  John, 

From  childhood  to  the  present  hour. 
And  yet  he  will  go  living  on — 

I  would  he  were  a  tree  or  flower ! 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


FOAM  AND  FANGS 

O  NYMPH  with  the  nicest  of  noses ; 

And  finest  and  fairest  of  forms; 
Lips  ruddy  and  ripe  as  the  roses 

That  sway  and  that  surge  in  the  storms; 
O  buoyant  and  blooming  Bacchante, 

Of  fairer  than  feminine  face, 
Rush,  raging  as  demon  of  Dante — 

To  this,  my  embrace! 


Foam  and  Fangs  645 

The  foam  and  the  fangs  and  the  flowers. 

The  raving  and  ravenous  rage 
Of  a  poet  as  pinion'd  in  powers 

As  a  condor  confined  in  a  cage!       • 
My  heart  in  a  haystack  I've  hidden, 

As  loving  and  longing  I  lie, 
Kiss  open  thine  eyelids  unbidden^ 

I  gaze  and  I  die! 

IVe  wander'd  the  wild  waste  of  slaughter, 

VvG  sniffed  up  the  sepulchre's  scent, 
IVe  doated  on  devilry's  daughter. 

And  murmur'd  much  more  than  I  meant; 
IVe  paused  at  Penelope's  portal, 

So  strange  are  the  sights  that  I've  seen, 
And  mighty's  the  mind  of  the  mortal 

Who  knows  what  I  mean. 

Walter  Parke. 


X 

NARRATIVE 

LITTLE  BILLEE 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  City 
Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea, 

But  first  with  beef  and  captain's  biscuits, 
And  pickled  pork  they  loaded  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack,  and  guzzling  Jimmy, 
And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee. 

Now  when  they'd  got  as  far  as  the  Equator 
They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"  I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"  We've  nothing  left,  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 
"With  one  another  we  shouldn't  agree! 

There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and  tender, 
"  We're  old  and  tough,  so  let's  eat  he.'* 

"  O  Billy !  we're  going  to  kill  and  eat  you. 
So  undo  the  button  of  your  chemie.'' 

When  Bill  received  this  information. 
He  used  his  pocket-handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism, 

Which  my  poor  mother  taught  to  me." 

"Make  haste!  make  haste!  "  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snicker-snee. 


The  Crystal  Palace  547 

Then  Bill  went  up  to  the  main-top-gallant-mast, 

And  down  he  fell  on  his  bended  knee, 
He  scarce  had  come  to  the  Twelfth  Commandment 

When  up  he. jumps — "  There's  land  I  see!  " 


"Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 

And  North  and  South  Amerikee, 
There's  the  British  flag  a-riding  at  anchor, 

With  Sir  Admiral  Napier,  K.C.B." 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  Admiral's, 
He  hanged  fat  Jack  and  flogged  Jimmee, 

But  as  for  little  Bill,  he  made  him 
The  captain  of  A  Seventy-three. 

W.  M.  Thackeray, 

THE  CRYSTAL  PALACE 

With  ganial  foire 

Thransfuse  me  loyre, 
Ye  sacred  nymphs  of  Pindus, 

The  whoile  I  sing 

That  wondthrous  thing, 
The  Palace  made  o'  windows! 


Say,  Paxton,  truth. 

Thou  wondthrous  youth. 
What  sthroke  of  art  celistial. 

What  power  was  lint 

You  to  invint 
This  combineetion  cristial. 


O  would  before 

That  Thomas  Moore, 
Likewoise  the  late  Lord  Boyron, 

Thim  aigles  sthrong 

Of  godlike  song, 
Cast  oi  on  that  cast  oiron! 


348  Narrative 

And  saw  thim  walls. 

And  glittering  halls, 
Thim  rising  slendther  columns, 

Which  I,  poor  pote. 

Could  not  denote, 
No,  not  in  twinty  vollums. 

My  Muse's  words 

Is  like  the  bird's 
That  roosts  beneath  the  panes  there; 

Her  wings  she  spoils 

'Gainst  them  bright  toiles, 
And  cracks  her  silly  brains  there. 

This  Palace  tall. 

This  Cristial  Hall, 
Which  Imperors  might  covet. 

Stands  in  High  Park 

Like  Noah's  Ark, 
A  rainbow  bint  above  it. 

The  towers  and  fanes, 

In  other  scaynes, 
The  fame  of  this  will  undo, 

Saint  Paul's  big  doom. 

Saint  Payther's,  Room. 
And  Dublin's  proud  Rotundo. 

'Tis  here  that  roams, 

As  well  becomes 
Her  dignitee  and  stations, 

Victoria  Great, 

And  houlds  in  state 
The  Congress  of  the  Nations. 

Her  subjects  pours 

Prom  distant  shores. 
Her  Injians  and  Canajians, 

And  also  we, 

Her  kingdoms  three, 
Attind  with  our  allagiance. 


The  Crystal  Palace  549 

Here  come  likewise 

Her  bould  allies, 
Both  Asian  and  Europian; 

From  East  and  West 

They  send  their  best 
To  fill  her  Coornucopean. 

I  seen  (thank  Grace!) 

This  wondthrous  place 
(His  Noble  Honour  Misther 

H.  Cole  it  was 

That  gave  the  pass, 
And  let  me  see  what  is  there). 

With  conscious  proide 

I  stud  insoide 
And  look'd  the  World's  Great  Fair  in, 

Until  me  sight 

Was  dazzled  quite. 
And  couldn't  see  for  staring. 

There's  holy  saints 

And  window  paints. 
By  maydiayval  Pugin; 

Alhamborough  Jones 

Did  paint  the  tones. 
Of  yellow  and  gambouge  in. 

There's  fountains  there 

And  crosses  fair; 
There's  water-gods  with  urms; 

There's  organs  three, 

To  play,  d'ye  see, 
"  God  save  the  Queen,"  by  turrns. 

There's  statues  bright 

Of  marble  white. 
Of  silver,  and  of  copper; 

And  some  in  zinc, 

And  some,  I  think, 
That  isn't  over  proper. 


550  Narrative 

There's  staym  injynes, 

That  stands  in  lines, 
Enormous  and  amazing, 

That  squeal  and  snort 

Like  whales  in  sport, 
Or  elephants  a-grazing. 

There's  carts  and  gigs, 

And  pins  for  pigs. 
There's  dibblers  and  there's  harrows. 

And  ploughs  like  toys 

For  little  boys, 
And  illigant  wheelbarrows. 

For  thim  genteels 

Who  ride  on  wheels. 
There's  plenty  to  indulge  'em: 

There's  droskys  snug 

From  Paytersbug, 
And  vayhycles  from  Bulgium. 

There's  cabs  on  stands 

And  shandthrydanns ; 
There's  wagons  from  New  York  here; 

There's  Lapland  sleighs 

Have  cross'd  the  seas, 
And  jaunting  cyars  from  Cork  here. 

Amazed  I  pass 

From  glass  to  glass, 
Deloighted  I  survey  'em; 

Fresh  wondthers  grows 

Before  me  nose 
In  this  sublime  MusayumI 

Look,  here's  a  fan 

From  far  Japan, 
A  sabre  from  Damasco: 

There's  shawls  ye  get 

From  far  Thibet, 
And  cotton  prints  from  Glasgow. 


The  Crystal  Palace  651 

There^s  German  flutes, 

Marocky  boots, 
And  Naples  macaronies; 

Bohaymia 

Has  sent  Behay; 
Polonia  her  polonies. 

There's  granite  flints 

That's  quite  imminse. 
There's  sacks  of  coals  and  fuels, 

There's  swords  and  guns. 

And  soap  in  tuns. 
And  gingerbread  and  jewels. 

There's  taypots  ther6, 

And  cannons  rare; 
There's  cofBns  fill'd  with  roses; 

There's  canvas  tints. 

Teeth  insthrumints. 
And  shuits  of  clothes  by  Moses. 

There's  lashins  more 

Of  things  in  store. 
But  thim  I  don't  remimber; 

Nor  could  disclose 

Did  I  compose 
From  May  time  to  Novimber! 

Ah,  Judy  thru ! 

With  eyes  so  blue. 
That  you  were  here  to  view  it! 

And  could  I  screw 

But  tu  pound  tu, 
'Tis  I  would  thrait  you  to  it! 


So  let  us  raise 

Victoria's  praise. 
And  Albert's  proud  condition 

That  takes  his  ayse 

As  he  surveys 
This  Cristial  Exhibition. 

W.  M.  Thackeray, 


552  Narrative 

THE  WOFLE  NEW  BALLAD  OF  JANE  KONEY 
AND  MAKY  BROWN 

An  igstrawnary  tail  I  vill  tell  you  this  veek — 
I  stood  in  the  Court  of  A'Beckett  the  Beak, 
Vere  Mrs.  Jane  Roney,  a  vidow,  I  see, 
Who  charged  Mary  Brown  with  a  robbin*  of  she. 

This  Mary  was  pore  and  in  misery  once. 
And  she  came  to  Mrs.  Roney  it's  more  than  twelve  monce 
She  adn't  got  no  bed,  nor  no  dinner,  nor  no  tea, 
•And  kind  Mrs.  Roney  gave  Mary  all  three. 

Mrs.  Roney  kep  Mary  for  ever  so  many  veeks    • 
(Her  conduct  disgusted  the  best  of  all  Beax), 
She  kept  her  for  nothink,  as  kind  as  could  be, 
Never  thinking  that  this  Mary  was  a  traitor  to  she. 

"  Mrs.  Roney,  O  Mrs.  Roney,  I  feel  very  ill ; 
Will  you  jest  step  to  the  doctor's  for  to  fetch  me  a  pill?" 
"  That  I  will,  my  pore  Mary,"  Mrs.  Roney  says  she : 
And  she  goes  off  to  the  doctor's  as  quickly  as  may  be. 

No  sooner  on  this  message  Mrs.  Roney  was  sped, 
Than  hup  gits  vicked  Mary,  and  jumps  out  a  bed; 
She  hopens  all  the  trunks  without  never  a  key — 
She  bustes  all  the  boxes,  and  vith  them  makes  free. 

Mrs.  Roney's  best  linning  gownds,  petticoats,  and  close. 
Her  children's  little  coats  and  things,  her  boots  and  her  hose, 
She  packed  them,  and  she  stole  'em,  and  avay  vith  them  did 

flee 
Mrs.  Roney's  situation — ^you  may  think  vat  it  vould  be! 

Of  Mary,  ungrateful,  who  had  served  her  this  vay, 
Mrs.  Roney  heard  nothink  for  a  long  year  and  a  day. 
Till  last  Thursday,  in  Lambeth,  ven  whom  should  she  see? 
But  this  Mary^  as  had  acted  so  ungrateful  to  she. 


Ballad  of  Jane  Ronej  and  Mary  Brown      553 

She  was  leaning  on  the  helbo  of  a  worthy  young  man; 
They  were  going  to  be  married,  and  were  walkin  hand  in 

hand; 
And  the  church-bells  was  a  ringing  for  Mary  and  he, 
And  the  parson  was  ready,  and  a  waitin'  for  his  fee. 

When  up  comes  Mrs.  Roney,  and  faces  Mary  Brown, 
Who  trembles,  and  castes  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 
She  calls  a  jolly  pleaseman,  it  happens  to  be  me; 
I  charge  this  young  woman,  Mr.  Pleaseman,  says  she. 

Mrs.  Roney,  o,  Mrs.  Roney,  o,  do  let  me  go, 

I  acted  most  ungrateful  I  own,  and  I  know, 

But  the  marriage  bell  is  ringin,  and  the  ring  you  may  see, 

And  this  young  man  is  a  waitin,  says  Mary,  says  she. 

I  don't  care  three  fardens  for  the  parson  and  dark. 
And  the  bell  may  keep  ringing  from  noon  day  to  dark. 
Mary  Brown,  Mary  Brown,  you  must  come  along  with  me. 
And  I  think  this  young  man  is  lucky  to  be  free. 

So,  in  spite  of  the  tears  which  bejewed  Mary's  cheek, 
I  took  that  young  gurl  to  A'Beckett  the  Beak ; 
That  exlent  justice  demanded  her  plea — 
But  never  a  sullable  said  Mary  said  she. 

On  account  of  her  conduck  so  base  and  so  vile. 
That  wicked  young  gurl  is  committed  for  trile. 
And  if  she's  transpawted  beyond  the  salt  sea, 
It's  a  proper  reward  for  such  willians  as  she. 

Now,  you  young  gurls  of  Southwark  for  Mary  who  veep. 
From  pickin  and  stealin  your  ands  you  must  keep, 
Or  it  may  be  my  dooty,  as  it  was  Thursday  veek 
To  pull  you  all  hup  to  A'Beckett  the  Beak. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


554  Narrative 


KING  JOHN  AND  THE  ABBOT 

An  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon 
Of  a  notable  prince,  that  was  called  King  John; 
And  he  ruled  England  with  raaine  and  with  might, 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  maintein'd  little  right. 

And  He  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merrye, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburye; 
How  for  his  house-keeping,  and  high  renowne, 
They  rode  poste  for  him  to  fair  London  towne. 

An  hundred  men,  the  king  did  heare  say, 
The  abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ; 
And  fifty  golde  chaynes,  without  any  doubt. 
In  velvet  coates  waited  the  abbot  about. 

How  now,  father  abbot,  T  heare  it  of  thee. 
Thou  keepest  a  farre  better  house  than  mee, 
And  for  thy  house-keeping  and  high  renowne, 
I  feare  thou  work'st  treason  against  my  crown. 

My  liege,  quo'  the  abbot,  I  would  it  were  knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne ; 
And  I  trust  your  grace  will  doe  me  no  deere 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  geere. 

Yes,  yes,  father  abbot,  thy  fault  it  is  highe. 
And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye ; 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  three. 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie. 

And  first,  quo'  the  king,  when  I'm  in  this  stead, 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege-men,  so  noble  of  birthe. 
Thou  must  tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worthe. 

Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  T  may  ride  the  whole  world  about. 
And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think. 


King  Jolin  and  the  Abbot  655 

O,  these  are  hard  questions  for  my  shallow  witt, 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  grace  as  yet; 
But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  weekes  space, 
He  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  grace. 

Now  three  weeks  space  to  thee  will  I  give. 
And  that  is  the  longest  time  thou  hast  to  live; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions  three. 
Thy  lands  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  mee. 

Away  rode  the  abbot,  all  sad  at  that  word, 
And  he  rode  to  Cambridge  and  Oxenford; 
But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise. 
That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise. 

Then  home  rode  the  abbot,  of  comfort  so  cold, 
And  he  mett  his  shepheard  agoing  to  fold: 
How  now,  my  lord  abbot,  you  are  welcome  home 
What  newes  do  you  bring  us  from  good  King  John? 

Sad  newes,  sad  newes,  shepheard,  I  must  give: 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live; 
For  if  I  do  not  answer  him  questions  three, 
My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

The  first  is  to  tell  him  there  in  that  stead. 
With  his  crowne  of  golde  so  fair  on  his  head 
Among  all  his  liege-men  so  noble  of  birth. 
To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about: 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke, 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke. 

Now  cheare  up,  sire  abbot,  did  you  never  hear  yet. 
That  a  fool  he  may  learne  a  wise  man  witt? 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving-men,  and  your  apparel, 
And  I'll  ride  to  London  to  answere  your  quarrel. 

Nay  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee, 

I  am  like  your  lordship,  as  ever  may  bee : 

And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne. 

There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  in  fair  London  towne. 


556  Narrative 

Now  horses  and  serving-men  thou  shalt  have, 
With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave; 
With  crozier,  and  miter,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 
Fit  to  appeare  'fore  our  fader  the  pope. 

Now  welcome,  sire  abbot,  the  king  he  did  say, 
'Tis  well  thou'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day; 
For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

And  first,  when  thou  seest  me  here  in  this  stead. 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birthe. 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth. 


For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 

Among  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told : 

And  twenty-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee. 

For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than  hee. 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Bittel, 
I  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  littel ! 
— Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about. 

I 

You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the  same. 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  againe; 
And  then  your  grace  need  not  make  any  doubt 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about. 


The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 

I  did  not  think  it  could  be  gone  so  soone! 

— Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrinke, 

But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  thinke. 


Yea,  that  shall  I  do,  and  make  your  grace  merry 
You  thinlte  I'm  the  abbot  of  Canterbury; 


I 


On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite  Cat  557 

But  I'm  his  poor  shepheard,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  mee. 


The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  masse, 
lie  make  thee  lord  abbot  this  day  in  his  place! 
Now  naye,  my  liege,  be  not  in  such  speede. 
For  alacke  I  can  neither  write,  ne  reade. 

Four  nobles  a  week,  then,  I  will  give  thee, 
For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  showne  unto  mee: 
And  tell  the  old  abbot,  when  thou  comest  home. 
Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  King  John. 

From  Percy  s  Reliques. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FAVORITE  CAT, 

DROWNED  IN  A  TUB   OF  GOLDFISHES 

'TwAS.  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow. 
Demurest  of.  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard. 

The  velvet  of  her  paws. 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies. 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes. 

She  saw,  and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gaz'd,  but,  'midst  the  tide. 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide. 

The  Genii  of  the  stream: 
Their  scaly  armor's  Tyrian  hue, 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 

Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 


55S  Narrative 

The  hapless  nymph  with  wonder  saw: 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched  in  vain  to  reach  the  prize: 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise? 

What  Cat's  averse  to  fish? 

Presumptuous  maid!  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretched,  again  she  bent, 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between : 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled) 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled; 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  god 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred. 
Nor  cruel  Tom  or  Susan  heard: 

A  fav'rite  has  no  friend! 

From  hence,  ye  Beauties !  undeceived. 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved. 

And  be  with  caution  bold : 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes, 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize, 

Nor  all  that  glistens  gold. 

Thomas  Gray. 


MISADVENTUEES  AT  MARGATE 


MR.  SIMPKINSON  (loquitur) 

I  WAS  in  Margate  last  July,  T  walk'd  upon  the  pier, 

I  saw  a  little  vulgar  Boy — T  said  "  What  make  you  here? — 

The  gloom  upon  your  youthful  cheek  speaks  any  thing  but 

joy; 
Again  I  said,  "  What  make  you  here,  you  little  vulgar  Boy  ? " 


Misadventures  at  Margate  559 

He  frown'd,  that  little  vulgar  Boy — he  deem'd  I  meant  to 

m:  scoff : 

^    And  when  the  little  heart  is  big,  a  little  "  sets  it  off  "; 
lie  put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  his  little  bosom  rose, — 
He  had  no  little  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  little  nose! 

"  Hark !  don't  you  hear,  my  little  man  ? — it's  striking  nine,"  I 

said, 
"  An  hour  when  all  good  little  boys  and  girls  should  be  in  bed. 
Run  home  and  get  your  supper,  else  your  Ma'  will  scold — Oh ! 

fie!— 
It's  very  wrong  indeed  for  little  boys  to  stand  and  cry!  " 

The  tear-drop  in  his  little  eye  again  began  to  spring. 

His  bosom  throbb'd  with  agony — he  cried  like  any  thing! 

I  stoop'd,  and  thus  amidst  his  sobs  T  heard  him  murmur — 

"Ah 
I  haven't  got  no  supper !  and  I  haven't  got  no  Ma' ! ! — 

"My  father,  he  is  on  the  seas, — my  mother's  dead  and  gone! 
And  I  am  here,  on  this  here  pier,  to  roam  the  world  alone; 
I  have  not  had,  this  live-long  day,  one  drop  to  cheer  my  heart, 
Nor  '  hrown '  to  buy  a  bit  of  bread  with, — let  alone  a  tart. 

"  If  there's  a  soul  will  give  me  food,  or  find  me  in  employ. 
By  day  or  night,  then  blow  me  tight !  "  (he  was  a  vulgar 

Boy); 
"  And  now  I'm  here,  from  this  here  pier  it  is  my  fixed  intent 
To  jump,  as  Mr.  Levi  did  from  off  the  Monu-ment !  " 

"Cheer  up!  cheer  up!  my  little  man — cheer  up!"  I  kindly 

said. 
You  are  a  naughty  boy  to  take  such  things  into  your  head: 
If  you  should  jump  from  off  the  pier,  you'd  surely  break 

your  legs, 
Perhaps  your  neck — then  Bogey'd  have  you,  sure  as  eggs  are 


"  Come  home  with  me,  my  little  man,  come  home  with  me 

and  sup; 
My  landlady  is  Mrs.  Jones — we  must  not  keep  her  up — 


560  Narrative 

There's  roast  potatoes  on  the  fire, — enough  for  me  and  you — 
Come  home, — you  little  vulgar  Boy — I  lodge  at  Number  2." 

I  took  him  home  to  Number  2,  the  house  beside  "  The  Foy," 
I  bade  him  wipe  his  dirty  shoes, — that  little  vulgar  Boy, — 
And  then  I  said  to  Mistress  Jones,  the  kindest  of  her  sex, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  go  and  fetch  a  pint  of  double  X ! " 

But  Mrs.  Jones  was  rather  cross,  she  made  a  little  noise, 
She  said  she  "  did  not  like  to  wait  on  little  vulgar  Boys." 
She  with  her  apron  wiped  the  plates,  and,  as  she  rubb'd  the 

delf, 
Said  I  might  "  go  to  Jericho,  and  fetch  my  beer  myself  I  " 

I  did  not  go  to  Jericho — I  went  to  Mr.  Cobb — 

I  changed   a  shilling — (which  in  town   the  people  call  '^  a 

Bob  ")— 
It  was  not  so  much  for  myself  as  for  that  vulgar  child — 
And  I  said,  "  A  pint  of  double  X,  and  please  to  draw  it 

mild!" 

When  T  came  back  I  gazed  about — T  gazed  on  stool  and 

chair — 
I  could  not  see  my  little  friend — ^because  he  was  not  there! 
I  peep'd  beneath  the  table-cloth — beneath  the  sofa  too — 
I  said  "  You  little  vulgar  Boy !  why  what's  become  of  you  ? " 

I  could  not  see  my  table-spoons — I  look'd,  but  could  not  see 

The  little  fiddle-pattern'd  ones  I  use  when  I'm  at  tea; 

— I   could  not   see  my   sugar-tongs — my   silver  watch — oh, 

dear! 
I  know  'twas  on  the  mantle-piece  when  I  went  out  for  beer. 

I  could  not  see  my  Mackintosh ! — it  was  not  to  be  seen ! 
Nor  yet  my  best  white  beaver  hat,  broad-brimm'd  and  lined 

with  green; 
My  carpet-bag — my   cruet-stand,  that  holds  my  sauce  and 

soy, — 
My  roast  potatoes !— all  are  gone!— and  so's  that  vulgar  Boy! 


I 


Misadventures  at  Margate  561 

I  rang  the  bell  for  Mrs.  Jones,  for  she  was  down  below, 

" — Oh,  Mrs.  Jones!  what  do  you  think? — ain't  this  a  pretty 
go? 

— That  horrid  little  vulgar  Boy  whom  I  brought  here  to- 
night, 

— He's  stolen  my  things  and  run  away!!  " — Says  she,  "And 
sarve  you  right ! ! " 


Next  morning  I  was  up  betimes — I  sent  the  Crier  round. 
All  with  his  bell  and  gold-laced  hat,  to  say  I'd  give  a  pound 
To  find  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  who'd  gone  and  used  me  so; 
But  when  the  Crier  cried  "  O  Yes ! "  the  people  cried,  "  O 

No!" 

I  went  to  "  Jarvis'  Landing-place,"  the  glory  of  the  town, 
There  was  a  common  sailor-man  a-walking  up  and  down; 
I  told  my  tale — he  seem'd  to  think  I'd  not  been  treated  well, 
And  called  me  "  Poor  old  Buffer!  "  what  that  means  I  cannot 
tell. 

That  sailor-man,   he  said  he'd  seen   that  morning  on  the 

shore, 
A  son  of — something — 'twas  a  name  I'd  never  heard  before, 
A  little  "gallows-looking  chap" — dear  me;  what  could  he 

mean  ? 
With  a  "  carpet-swab  "  and  "  muckingtogs,"  and  a  hat  turned 

up  with  green. 

He  spoke  about  his  "  precious  eyes,"  and  said  he'd  seen  him 

"  sheer," 
—It's  very  odd  that  sailor-men  should  talk  so  very  queer — 
And  then  he  hitch'd  his  trowsers  up,  as  is,  I'm  told,  their 

use, 
— It's  very  odd  that  sailor-men  should  wear  those  things  so 

loose. 

T  did  not  understand  him  well,  but  think  he  meant  to  say 
He'd  seen  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  that  morning  swim  away 


562  Narrative 

In  Captain  Large's  Royal  George  about  an  hour  before, 
And  they  were  now,  as  he  supposed,  ''  somewheres  ".  about  the 
Nore. 

A  landsman  said,  ^'  I  Iwig  the  chap — he's  been  upon  the  Mill— 
And  'cause  he  gammons  so  the  flats,  ve  calls  him  Veeping 

Bill!" 
He  said  "  he'd  done  mc  wery  brown,"  and  "  nicely  stow'd  the 

swag." 
— That's  French,  I  fancy,  for  a  hat — or  else  a  carpet-bag. 

T  went  and  told  the  constable  my  property  to  track; 
He  asked  me  if  '*  I  did  not  wish  that  I  might  get  it  back? " 
I  answered,  "To  be  sure  I  do! — it's  what  I  come  about." 
He  smiled  and  said,  "  Sir,  does  your  mother  know  that  you 
are  out?" 

Not  knowing  what  to  do,  I  thought  I'd  hasten  back  to  town. 
And  beg  our  own  Lord  Mayor  to  catch  the  Boy  who'd  "  done 

me  brown." 
His  Lordship  very  kindly  said  he'd  try  and  find  him  out, 
But  he  "  rather  thought  that  there  were  several  vulgar  boys 

about." 

He  sent  for  Mr.  Whithair  then,  and  I  described  "  the  swag," 
My  Mackintosh,  my  sugar-tongs,  my  spoons,  and  carpet-bag; 
He  promised  that  the  New  Police  should  all  their  powers 

employ ; 
But  never  to  this  hour  have  I  beheld  that  vulgar  Boy! 

MORAL 

Remember,  then,  what  when  a  boy  I've  heard  my  Grandma' 

tell, 
"  Be  warn'd  in  time  by  others'  harm,  and  you  shall  do  full 

WELL !  '' 

Don't  link  yourself  with  vulgar  folks,  who've  got  no  fix'd 

abode. 
Tell  lies,  use  naughty  words,  and  say  they  "  wish  they  may 

beblow'd!" 


The  Gouty  Merchant  and  the  Stranger       563 

Don't  take  too  much  of  double  X ! — and  don't  at  night  go  out 
To  fetch  your  beer  yourself,  but  make  the  pot-boy  bring  your 

stout  I 
And  when  you  go  to  Margate  next,  just  stop  and  ring  the 

bell, 
Give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Jones,  and  say  I'm  pretty  well! 

Richard  Harris  Barham. 

THE  GOUTY  MERCHANT  AND  THE  STRANGER 

In  Broad  Street  Buildings  on  a  winter  night. 

Snug  by  his  parlor-fire  a  gouty  wight 

Sat  all  alone,  with  one  hand  rubbing 

His  feet,  rolled  up  in  fleecy  hose: 

While  t'other  held  beneath  his  nose 

The  Public  Ledger,  in  whose  columns  grubbing, 

He  noted  all  the  sales  of  hops, 

Ships,  shops,  and  slops; 
Gum,  galls,  and  groceries;  ginger,  gin, 
Tar,  tallow,  turmeric,  turpentine,  and  tin; 
When  lo!  a  decent  personage  in  black 
Entered  and  most  politely  said : 
"Your  footman,  sir,  has  gone  his  nightly  track 

To  the  King's  Head, 
And  left  your  door  ajar;  which  I 
Observed   in   passing  by, 

And  thought  it  neighborly  to  give  you  notice." 
"  Ten  thousand  thanks ;  how  very  few  get, 
In  time  of  danger. 

Such  kind   attentions  from  a  stranger! 
Assuredly,  that  fellow's  throat  is 
Doomed  \fi  a  final  drop  at  Newgate: 
He  knows,  too   (the  unconscionable  elf!). 
That  there's  no  soul  at  home  except  myself." 
"  Indeed,"  replied  the  stranger  (looking  grave), 
"Then  he's  a  double  knave; 
He  knows  that  rogues  and  thieves  by  scores 
Nightly  beset  unguarded  doors: 
And  see,  how  easily  might  one  •■ 

Of  these  domestic  foes. 

Even  beneath  your  very  nose. 


564i  Narrative 

Perforin   his  knavish  tricks; 
Enter  your  room,  as  I  have  done, 
Blow  out  your  candles — thus — and  thus — 
Pocket  your  silver  candlesticks. 

And — walk   off — thus!" — 
So  said,  so  done;  he  made  no  more  remark 

Nor  waited  for  replies, 

But  marched  off  with  his  prize, 
Leaving   the  gouty   merchant   in   the   dark. 

Horace  Smith. 


THE  DIVERTING  HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GILPIN 

SHOWING     HOW     HE     WENT     FARTHER     THAN     HE     INTENDED     AND 
CAME     SAFE     HOME     AGAIN 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen  of  credit  and  renown; 

A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he,  of  famous  London  town. 

John   Gilpin's  spouse   said   to   her   dear — ^'  Though   wedded 

we  have  been 
These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we  no  holiday  have  seen. 

*'  To-morrow  is   our  wedding-day,   and   we  will   then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton  all  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

"  My   sister,    and   my   sister's    child,    myself,    and    children 

three, 
Will  fill  the  chaise;   so  you  must  ride  on  horseback  after 


He  soon  replied,  "  I  do  admire  of  womankind  but  one. 
And  you  are  she,   my  dearest  dear;   therefore   it   shall  be 
done. 


"I  am  a  linendraper  bold,  as  all  the  world  doth  know; 
And  my  good  friend,  the  calender,  will  lend  his  horse  to 
go." 


The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin        565 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  "That's  well  said;   and,  for  that  wine 

is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own,  which  is  both  bright 

and  clear." 

John   Gilpin   kissed  his  loving  wife;    o'erjoyed   was   he   to 

find 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent,  she  had  a  frugal 

mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought,  but  yet  was  not 

allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all  should  say  that  she  was 

proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was   stayed,  where  they  did 

all  get  in — 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog  to  dash  through  thick  and 

thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels — were  never 

folks  so  glad; 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath,  as  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

John    Gilpin    at   his  horse's    side   seized   fast   the   flowing 

mane, 

And   up   he   got,   in  haste   to   ride — but   soon   came   down 

again ; 

For  saddletree  scarce  reached  had  he,  his  journey  to  begin, 
When,    turning    round    his   head,    he   saw   three    customers 
come  in. 

;    So  down  he  came:  for  loss  of  time,   although   it  grieved 
him   sore, 
Yet  loss   of  pence,  full   well  he  knew,   would  trouble   him 
!  much  more. 

,   'Twas  long  before  the  customers  were  suited  to  their  mind; 
I  When  Betty,   screaming,  came  down-stairs — "  The  wine  is 
left  behind!" 


566  Narrative 

"  Good   lack !  "   quoth  he — "  yet  bring   it   me,   my   leathern 

belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  wear  my  trusty  sword  when  I  do  exercise." 

Now  Mistress  Gilpin   (careful  soul!)  had  two  stone  bottles 

found, 
To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved,   and  keep   it  safe  and 

sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear,  through  which  the  belt  he 

drew. 
And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side  to  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be  equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat,  he  manfully  did 
throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again  upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones,  with  caution  and  good 
heed. 

But   finding   soon   a   smoother   road   beneath    his    well-shod 

feet. 
The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot,  which  galled  him  in  his 

seat. 

So,  "Fair  and  softly,"  John  he  cried,  but  John  he  cried  in 

vain ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon,  in  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must  who  cannot  sit  up- 
right. 

He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands,  and  eke  with  all 
his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort  had  handled  been  before. 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got  did  wonder  more  and 
more. 


The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin        567 

Away   went   Gilpin,   neck   or   nought;   away,  went   hat   and 

wig; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  set  out,  of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow — the  cloak  did   fly,  like  streamer  long 

and  gay; 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both,  at  last  it  flew  away. 

Then    might    all    people    well    discern    the    bottles    he    had 

slung — 
A  bottle  swinging  at  each  aide,  as  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed,  up  flew  the  win- 
dows all; 

And  every  soul  cried  out,  "Well  done!"  as  loud  as  he 
could  bawl. 

Away   went  Gilpin — who  but  he?     His   fame  soon   spread 

around — 
"He  carries  weight!  he  rides  a  race!     Tis  for  a  thousand 

pound ! " 

And  still  as  fast  as  he  drew  near,  'twas  wonderful  to  view 
How   in   a   trice   the  turnpike  men   their  gates   wide   open 
threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down  his  reeking  head  full 

low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back  were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road,  most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
;  Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke  as  they  had  basted 
j  been. 

But  still  he  seemed  to  carry  weight,  with  leathern  girdle 
j  braced; 

I  For   all   might   see   the  bottle   necks   still    dangling   at   his 
waist. 

Thus   all   through   merry   Islington    these   gambols   did   he 

play, 
Until  he  came  unto  the  Wash  of  Edmonton  so  gay; 


568  Narrative 

And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about  on  both  sides  of  the 

way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop,  or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife  from  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much  to   see  how   he   did 
ride. 

"  Stop,   stop,   John   Gilpin !   here's   the  house,"   they   all   at 

once  did  cry; 
"  The  dinner  waits,  and  we  are  tired."     Said  Gilpin — "  So 

am  I!" 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit  inclined  to  tarry  there; 
For  why? — his   owner  had   a   house   full   ten   miles   off,   at 
Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew,  shot  by  an  archer  strong: 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to  the  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath,  and  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's  his  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calender,  amazed  to  see  his  neighbor  in  such  trim, 
Laid   down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate,   and  thus   accosted 
him : 

"What  news?  what  news?  your  tidings  tell;   tell  me  you 

must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come,  or  why  you   come  at 

aU?" 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit,  and  loved  a  timely  joke; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender  in  merry  guise  he  spoke: 

"I  came  because  your  horse  would  come;   and,   if  I  well 

forebode. 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here,  they  are  upon  the  road." 

The  calender,  right  glad  to  find  his  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Returned  him  not  a  single  word,  but  to  the  house  went  in; 


The  Diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin        569 

Whence  straight  he  came   with  hat  and  wig:  a   wig  that 

flowed  behind, 

A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear — each  comedy  in  its 

kind. 


He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn  thus  showed  his  ready 

wit — 
"  My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours,  they  therefore  needs 

must  fit. 

"But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away  that  hangs   upon  your 

face, 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may  be  in  a  hungry  case." 

Said  John,  *'  It  is  my  wedding-day,  and  all  the  world  would 

stare, 
If  wife  should   dine  at   Edmonton,   and  I  should   dine   at 

Ware." 

So,  turning  to  his  horse,  he  said,  "I  am  in  haste  to  dine; 
'Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here^you  shall  go  back 
for  mine." 

Ah,  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast,  for  which  he  paid 

full  dear! 
For,  while  he  spake,  a  braying  ass  did  sing  most  loud  and 

clear; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he  had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  galloped  off  with  all  his  might,  as  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away  went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig: 
He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first,  for  why? — they  were  too 
big. 

Now  Mistress   Gilpin,  when   she   saw  her  husband  posting 

down 
Into  the  country  far  away,  she  pulled  out  half  a  crown; 


570  Narrative 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said,  that  drove  them  to  the 

Bell, 
"  This  shall  be  yours  when  you  bring  back  my  husband  safe 

and  well." 

The  youth  did  ride,  and  soon  did  meet  John  coming  back 

amain — 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop,  by  catching  at  his  rein; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant,  and  gladly  would  have 

done, 
The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more,  and  made  him  faster 

run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away  went  post-boy  at  his  heels, 
The  post-boy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss  the  lumbering  of 
the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road,  thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly. 
With  post-boy  scampering  in  the  rear,  they  raised  the  hue 
and  cry: 

"  Stop  thief !  stop  thief ! — a  highwayman !  "  Not  one  of 
them  was  mute; 

And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way  did  join  in  the  pur- 
suit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again  flew  open  in  short  space; 
The  tollmen  thinking,  as  before,  that  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it,  too,  for  he  got  first  to  town; 
Nor  stopped   till   where  he   had   got  up   he  did   again   get 
down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  long  live  the  king!  and  Gilpin,  long  live 

he; 
And  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad,  may  I  be  there  to  see! 

William  Cowper. 


Paddy  O'Rafther  671 


PADDY  O'RAFTHER 

Paddy,  in  want  of  a  dinner  one  day. 
Credit  all  gone,  and  no  money  to  pay. 
Stole  from  a  priest  a  fat  pullet,  they  say, 

And  went  to  confession  just  afther; 
"  Your  riv^rince,"  says  Paddy,  "  I  stole  this  fat  hen." 
"  What,  what!  "  says  the  priest,  ^'  at  your  ould  thricks  again? 
Faith,  you'd  rather  be  staalin'  than  sayin'  amen, 

Paddy  O'Rafther!" 


"  Sure,  you  wouldn't  be  angry,"  says  Pat,  "  if  you  knew 
That  the  best  of  intintions  I  had  in  my  view" — 
For  I  stole  it  to  make  it  a  present  to  you. 

And  you  can  absolve  me  afther." 
"Do  you  think,"  says  the  priest,  "I'd  partake  of  your  theft? 
Of  your  seven  small  senses  you  must  be  bereft — 
You're  the  biggest  blackguard  that  I  know,  right  and  left, 

Paddy  O'Rafther." 


"  Then  what  shall  I  do  with  the  pullet,"  says  Pat, 
"If  your  riv'rince  won't  take  it?    By  this  and  by  that 
I  don't  know  no  more  than  a  dog  or  a  cat 
What  your  riv'rince  would  have  me  be  afther." 

J  "  Why,  then,",  says  his  rev'rence,  "  you  sin-blinded  owl, 
Give  back  to  the  man  that  you  stole  from  his  fowl: 
For  if  you  do  not,  'twill  be  worse  for  your  sowl, 

1^  Paddy  O'Rafther." 


^ays  Paddy,  "  I  ask'd  him  to  take  it— 'tis  thrue 
As  this  minit  I'm  talkin',  your  riv'rince,  to  you; 
But  he  wouldn't  resaive  it — so  what  can  I  do?" 

Says  Paddy,  nigh  choken   with  laughter. 
"By  my  throth,"  says  the  priest,  "but  the  case  is  absthruse; 
If  he  won't  take  his  hen,  why  the  man  is  a  goose: 
'Tis  not  the  first  time  my  advice  was  no  use, 

Paddy  O'Rafther." 


572  Narrative 

"  But,  for  sake  of  your  sowl,  T  would  sthrongly  advise 
To  some  one  in  want  you  would  give  your  supplies — 
Some  widow,  or  orphan,  with  tears  in  their  eyes; 

And  then  you  may  come  to  me  afther." 
So  Paddy  went  off  to  the  brisk  Widow  Hoy, 
And  the  pullet  between  them  was  eaten  with  joy, 
And,  says  she,  "  Ton  toy  word  you're  the  cleverest  boy, 

Paddy  O'Rafther." 


Then  Paddy  went  back  to  the  priest  the  next  day. 
And  told  him  the  fowl  he  had  given  away 
To  a  poor  lonely  widow,  in  want  and  dismay, 

The  loss  of  her  spouse  weeping  afther. 
*'  Well,  now,"  says  the  priest,  "  I'll  absolve  you,  my  lad. 
For  repentantly  making  the  best  of  the  bad. 
In  feeding  the  hungry  and  cheering  the  sad, 

Paddy  O'Rafther!" 

Samuel  Lover. 


HERE  SHE  GOES,  AND  THERE  SHE  GOES 

Two  Yankee  wags,   one  summer  day. 

Stopped   at  a  tavern  on   their  way. 

Supped,  frolicked,  late  retired  to  rest, 

And  woke  to  breakfast  on  the  best. 

The  breakfast  over,  Tom-  and  Will 

Sent   for  the  landlord   and   the  bill; 

Will  looked  it  over:— "Very  right — 

But  hold!  what  wonder  meets  my  sight? 

Tom,  the  surprise  is  quite   a  shock !  " 

"What  wonder?  where?"     "The  clock,  the  clock!" 


Tom  and  the  landlord  in  amaze 
Stared  at  the  clock  with  stupid  gaze. 
And  for  a  moment  neither  spoke; 
At  last  the  landlord   silence  broke,— 


Mere  She  Goes,  and  There  She  Goes        573 

"  You  mean  the  clock  that's  ticking  there  ? 

I  see  no  wonder,  I  declare! 

Though  maybe,  if  the  truth  were  told, 

'Tis  rather  ugly,  somewhat  old; 

Yet  time  it  keeps  to  half  a  minute; 

But,  if  you  please,  what   wonder's   in   it? " 

"  Tom,  don't  you  recollect,"  said  Will, 

"  The  clock  at  Jersey,  near  the  mill. 

The  very  image  of  this  present. 

With  which  I  won  the  wager  pleasant?" 

Will  ended  with  a  knowing  wink; 

Tom  scratched  his  head  and  tried  to  think. 

"  Sir,  begging  pardon  for  inquiring," 

The  landlord  said,  with  grin  admiring, 

"  What  wager  was  it  ? " 

"You  remember 
It  happened,  Tom,  in  last  December: 
In  sport  I  bet  a  Jersey  Blue 
That  it  was  more  than  he  could  do 
To  make  his  finger  go  and  come 
In  keeping  with  the  penSulum, 
Kepeating,  till  the  hour  should  close, 
Still, — 'Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes* 
He  lost  the  bet  in  half  a  minute." 

"  Well,  if  I  would,  the  deuce  is  in  it ! " 
Exclaimed  the  landlord;  "try  me  yet. 
And  fifty  dollars  be  the  bet." 
"  Agreed,  but  we  will  play  some  trick. 
To  make  you  of  the  bargain  sick ! " 
"I'm  up  to  that!" 

"  Don't  make  us  wait, — 
Begin, — the  clock  is  striking  eight." 
He  seats  himself,  and  left  and  right 
His  finger  wags  with  all  its  might, 
And  hoarse  his  voice  and  hoarser  grows. 
With — "Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!" 


574  Narrative 

"Hold!"  said  the  Yankee,  "Plank  the  ready!" 
The  landlord  wagged  his  finger  steady, 
While  his  left  hand,  as  well  as  able. 
Conveyed  a  purse  upon  the  table. 
"Tom!  with  the  money  let's  be  off!" 
This  made  the  landlord  only  scoff. 

He  heard  them  running  down  the  stair. 
But  was  not  tempted  from  his  chair; 
Thought  he,  "The  fools!     I'll  bite  them  yet! 
So  poor  a  trick  sha'n't  win  the  bet." 
And  loud  and  long  the  chorus  rose 
Of — "  Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes! " 
While  right  and  left  his  finger  swung. 
In  keeping  to  his  clock  and  tongue. 

His  mother  happened  in  to  see 

Her  daughter:  "Where  is  Mrs.  B ?" 

"  When  will  she  come,  do  you  suppose  ? 
Son!"— 

"Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!' 
"Here! — ^where?" — the  lady  in  surprise 
His  finger  followed  with  her  eyes: 
"  Son !  why  that  steady  gaze  and  sad  ? 
Those  words, — ^that  motion, — are  you  mad? 
But  here's  your  wife,  perhaps  she  knows. 
And—" 

"Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes! 

His  wife  surveyed  him  with  alarm. 

And  rushed  to  him,  and  seized  his  arm; 

He  shook  her  off,  and  to  and  fro 

His  finger  persevered  to  go; 

While  curled  his  very  nose  with  ire 

That  she  against  him  should  conspire; 

And  with  more  furious  tone  arose 

The — "Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!** 

"  Lawks !  "  screamed  the  wife,  "  I'm  in  a  whirl ! 
Run  down  and  bring  the  little  girl; 


Here  She  Goes,  and  There  She  Goes       575 

She  is  his  darling,  and  who  knows 
But—" 

"Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!" 

"Lawks!  he  is  mad!     What  made  him  thus? 
Good  Lord!  what  will  become  of  us? 
Kun  for  a  doctor, — run,  run,  run, — 
For  Doctor  Brown  and  Doctor  Dun, 
And   Doctor  Black   and  Doctor  White, 
And  Doctor  Gray,  with  all  your  might!" 

The  doctors  came,  and  looked,  and  wondered, 

And  shook  their  heads,  and  paused  and  pondered. 

Then  one  proposed  he  should  be  bled, — 

"  No,  leeched  you  mean,"  the  other  said, 

"Clap  on  a  blister!"  roared  another, — 

"No!  cup  him,"— "No,  trepan  him,  brother." 

A  sixth  would  recommend  a  purge, 

The  next  would  an  emetic  urge; 

The  last  produced  a  box  of  pills, 

A  certain  cure  for  earthly  ills: 

"  T  had  a  patient  yesternight," 

Quoth  he,  "  and  wretched  was  her  plight, 

And  as  the  only  means  to  save  her, 

Three  dozen  patent  pills  T  gave  her; 

And  by  to-morrow  I  suppose 

That—" 

**Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!" 

"  You  are  all  fools !  "  the  lady  said, — 

"The  way  is  just  to  shave  his  head. 

Run !  bid  the  barber  come  anon." 

"Thanks,  mother!"  thought  her  clever  son; 

"  You  help  the  knaves  that  would  have  bit  me. 

But  all   creation  sha'n't  outwit  me!  " 

Thus  to  himself  while  to  and  fro 

His  finger  perseveres  to  go. 

And  from  his  lips  no  accent  flows 

But, — "Here  she  goes,  and  there  she  goes!" 

The  barber  came — "  Lord  help  him !  what 

A  queerish  customer  I've  got; 


576  Narrative 

But  we  must  do  our  best  to  save  him, — 
So  hold  him,  gemmen,  while  I  shave  him ! " 
But  here  the  doctors  interpose, — 
"  A  woman  never — " 

*' There  she  goes!" 

"  A  woman  is  no  judge  of  physic, 

Not  even  when  her  baby  is  sick. 

He  must  be  bled,"— "  No,  cup  him,"— "  Pills !  " 

And  all  the  house  the  uproar  fills. 

What  means  that  smile?  what  means  that  shiver? 

The  landlord's  limbs  with  rapture  quiver, 

And  triumph  brightens  up  his  face, 

His  finger  yet  will  win  the  race; 

The  clock  is  on  the  stroke  of  nine. 

And  up  he  starts, — "  Tis  mine !  'tis  mine !  " 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  the  fifty ; 
I  never  spent  an  hour  so  thrifty. 
But  you  who  tried  to  make  me  lose, 
Go,  burst  with  envy,  if  you  choose! 
But  how  is  this?  where  are  they?" 

"Who?" 
"  The  gentlemen, — ^I  mean  the  two 
Came  yesterday, — are  they  below  ?  " 
"They  galloped  off  an  hour  ago." 
"Oh,  dose  me!  blister!  shave  and  bleed! 
For,  hang  the  knaves,  I'm  mad  indeed ! " 

James  Nack. 


THE  QUAKEK'S  MEETING 

A  TRAVELLER  wcnded  the  wilds  among, 
With  a  purse  of  gold  and  a  silver  tongue; 
His  hat  it  was  broad,  and  all  drab  were  his  clothes. 
For  he  hated  high  colors — except  on  his  nose. 
And  he  met  with  a  lady,  the  story  goes. 
Heigho!  yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 


The  Quaker's  Meeting  677 

The  damsel  she  cast  him  a  merry  blink, 

And  the  traveller  nothing  was  loth,  I  think. 

Her  merry  black  eye  beamed  her  bonnet  beneath, 

And  the  Quaker,  he  grinned,  for  he'd  very  good  teeth. 

And  he  asked,  "  Art  thee  going  to  ride  on  the  heath  ? " 

"I  hope  you'll  protect  me,  kind  sir,"  said  the  maid, 

"  As  to  ride  this  heath  over,  I'm  sadly  afraid ; 

For  robbers,  they  say,  here  in  numbers  abound. 

And  I  wouldn't  for  anything  I  should  be  found, 

For,  between  you  and  me,  I  have  five  hundred  pound." 

"  If  that  is  thee  own,  dear,"  the  Quaker,  he  said, 
"  I  ne'er  saw  a  maiden  I  sooner  would  wed ; 
And  I  have  another  five  hundred  just  now. 
In  the  padding  that's  under  my  saddle-bow. 
And  I'll  settle  it  all  upon  thee,  I  vow ! " 

The  maiden  she  smil'd,  and  her  rein  she  drew, 

''  Your  offer  I'll  take,  but  I'll  not  take  you," 

A  pistol  she  held  at  the  Quaker's  head — 

"  Now  give  me  your  gold,  or  I'll  give  you  my  lead, 

'Tis  under  the  saddle,  I  think  you  said." 

The  damsel  she  ripped  up  the  saddle-bow, 
And  the  Quaker  was  never  a  quaker  till  now! 
And  he  saw,  by  the  fair  one  he  wished  for  a  bride, 
His  purse  borne  away  with  a  swaggering  stride. 
And  the  eye  that  shamm'd  tender,  now  only  defied. 

"  The  spirit  doth  move  me,  friend  Broadbrim,"  quoth  she, 
"  To  take  all  this  filthy  temptation  from  thee, 
For  Mammon  deceiveth,  and  beauty  is  fleeting, 
Accept  from  thy  maiden  this  right-loving  greeting. 
For  much  doth  she  profit  by  this  Quaker's  meeting ! 

"  And  hark !  jolly  Quaker,  so  rosy  and  sly. 
Have  righteousness,  more  than  a  wench,  in  thine  eye; 
Don't  go  again  peeping  girls'  bonnets  beneath. 
Remember  the  one  that  you  met  on  the  heath. 
Her  name's  Jimmy  Barlow,  I  tell  to  your  teeth." 


578  Narrative 

**  Friend  James,"  quoth  the  Quaker,  "  pray  listen  to  me, 
For  thou  canst  confer  a  great  favor,  d'ye  see; 
The  gold  thou  hast  taken  is  not  mine,  my  friend, 
But  my  master's ;  and  truly  on  thee  I  depend, 
To  make  it  appear  I  my  trust  did  defend. 


*'  So  fire  a  few  shots  thro'  my  clothes,  here  and  there. 

To  make  it  appear  'twas  a  desp'rate  affair." 

So  Jim  he  popp'd  first  through  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

And  then  through  his  collar — quite  close  to  his  throat; 

"  Now  one  thro'  my  broadbrim,"  quoth  Ephraim,  "  I  vote." 


"  I  have  but  a  brace,"  said  bold  Jim,  "  and  they're  spent. 
And  I  won't  load  again  for  a  make-believe  rent." — 
"Then!" — said  Ephraim,  producing  his  pistols,  "just  give 
My  five  hundred  pounds  back,  or,  as  sure  as  you  live, 
I'll  make  of  your  body  a  riddle  or  sieve." 


Jim  Barlow  was  diddled — and,  tho'  he  was  game. 
He  saw  Ephraim's  pistol  so  deadly  in  aim. 
That  he  gave  up  the  gold,  and  he  took  to  his  scrapers. 
And  when  the  whole  story  got  into  the  papers. 
They  said  that  "  the  thieves  were  no  match  for  the  Quakers. 
Heigho!  yea  thee  and  nay  thee. 

Samuel  Lov^r. 


THE  JESTER  CONDEMNED  TO  DEATH 

One  of  the  Kings  of  Scanderoon, 

A  royal  jester 
Had  in  his  train,  a  gross  buffoon. 

Who  used  to  pester 
The  court  with  tricks  inopportune, 
Venting  on  the  highest  folks  his 
Scurvy  pleasantries  and  hoaxes. 


The  Jester  Condemned  to   Death  679 

It  needs  some  sense  to  play  the  fool, 
Which  wholesome  rule 

Occurred  not  to  our  jackanapes, 
Who  consequently  found  his  freaks 

Lead  to  innumerable  scrapes, 
And  quite  as  many  tricks  and  tweaks, 

Which  only  seemed  to  make  him  faster 

Try  the  patience  of  his  master. 

Some  sin,  at  last,  beyond  all  measure 
Incurred  the  desperate  displeasure 

Of  his  Serene  and  raging  Highness: 
Whether  he  twitched  his  most  revered 
And  sacred  beard. 

Or  had  intruded  on  the  shyness 

Of  the  seraglio,  or  let  fly 

An  epigram  at  royalty, 
None  knows :  his  sin  was  an  occult  one. 
But  records  tell  us  that  the  Sultan, 
Meaning  to  terrify  the  knave. 

Exclaimed,  "'Tis  time  to  stop  that  breath; 
Thy  doom  is  sealed,  presumptuous  slave! 

Thou  stand^st  condemned  to  certain  death : 

"  Silence,  base  rebel !  no  replying ! 

But  such  is  my  indulgence  still, 

That,  of  my  own  free  grace  and  will, 
I  leave  to  thee  the  mode  of  dying." 
"  Thy  royal  will  be  done— 'tis  just," 
Replied  the  wretch,  and  kissed  the  dust. 

."  Since  my  last  moment  to  assuage. 
Your  majesty's  humane  decree 
Has  deigned  to  leave  the  choice  to  me, 

I'll  die,  so  please  you,  of  old  age ! " 
^  Horace  Smith. 


580  Narrative 

THE  DEACON'S  MASTEKPIECE; 

OR,   THE    WONDERFUL    "  ONE-HOSS    SHAY*' 

A  Logical  Story 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way, 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it — ah,  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happened  without  delay, — 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  the  people  out  of  their  wits — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five, 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive — 
Stuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive. 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down, 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown. 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  earthquake-day 
That  the  Deacon  finished  his  one-hoss  shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I'll  tell  you  what. 

There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot — 

In  hub,  tire,  or  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel,  or  crossbar,  or  floor,  or  sill. 

In  screw,  bolt,  thorough  brace — lurking  still, 

Eind  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will — 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

A  chaise  hreaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  Deacons  do. 

With  an  "  I  dew  vam ''  or  an  "  T  tell  yeou  "), 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

V  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun'; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldna  break  daown; 


The  Deacon's  Masterpiece  581 

— "  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  't's  mighty  plain 
That  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain; 
V  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain. 

Is  only  jest 
T'  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  couldn't  be  split  nor  bent  nor  broke — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills; 

The  cross-bars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees; 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum  "— 

Last  of  its  timber — they  couldn't  sell  'em. 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips; 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw. 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linch-pin  too. 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue; 

Thorough-broke  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through  " — 

"There!"  said  the  deacon,  "  naow  she'll  dew!" 

Do !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less. 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  gray. 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropped  away, 

Children  and  grandchildren — where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss  shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon  earthquake-day !  . 

Eighteen  hundred; — it  came  and  found 
The  deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten; — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  called  it  then. 


582  Narrative 

Eighteen  hundred  and  tv/enty  came; — 
Running  as  usual;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  came  fifty  and  fifty-five. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth. 

So  far  as  I  know  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(That  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large; 

Take  it — you're  welcome. — No  extra  charge.) 

First  of  November — The  Earthquake-day — 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss  shay, 

A  general  flavour  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be — for  the  deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 

And  the  whippletree  neither  less  nor  more, 

And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 

And  spring  and  axle  and  hub  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole  it  is  past  a  doubt 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out! 

First  of  November,  'Fifty-five! 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tailed,  ewe-necked  bay, 

"  Huddup ! "  said  the  parson.— Off  went  they. 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopped  perplexed 
At  what  the — Moses — was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 
Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 


The  Ballad  of  the  Oysterman  683 

— First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock 
At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  earthquake  shock! 
— What  do  you  think  the  parson  found. 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around? 
The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground  I 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce. 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once, — 
All  at  once  and  nothing  first — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay. 
Logic  is  logic.     That's  all  I  say. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  OYSTERMAlSr 

It  was  a  tall  young  oysterman  lived  by  the  river-side; 
His  shop  was  just  upon  the  bank,  his  boat  was  on  the  tide. 
The  daughter  of  a  fisherman,  that  was  so  straight  and  slim. 
Lived  over  on  the  other  bank,  right  opposite  to  him. 

It  was  the  pensive  oysterman  that  saw  a  lovely  maid, 
Upon  a  moonlight  evening,  a-sitting  in  the  shade; 
He  saw  her  wave  her  handkerchief,  as  much  as  if  to  say, 
"  I'm  wide  awake,  young  oysterman,  and  all  the  folks  away." 

Then  up  arose  the  oysterman,  and  to  himself  said  he, 

"I  guess  I'll  leave  the  skiff  at  home,  for  fear  that  folks 

should  see; 
I  read  it  in  the  story-book,  that,  for  to  kiss  his  dear, 
Leander  swam  the  Hellespont — and  I  will  swim  this  here." 

And  he  has  leaped  into  the  waves,  and  crossed  the  shining 

stream, 
And  he  has  clambered  up  the  bank,  all   in  the  moonlight 

gleam ; 


584  Narrative 

0  there  were  kisses  sweet  as  dew,  and  words  as  soft  as  rain — 
But  they  have  heard  her  father's  step,  and  in  he  leaps  again ! 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman — "  O  what  was  that,  my 

daughter?" 
"  'Twas  nothing  but  a  pebble,  sir,  I  threw  into  the  water." 
*'  And  what  is  that,  pray  tell  me,  love,  that  paddles  off  so 

fast?" 
"  It's  nothing  but  a  porpoise,  sir,  that's  been  a-swimming 

past." 

Out  spoke  the  ancient  fisherman — "  Now  bring  me  my  har- 
poon! 

I'll  get  into  my  fishing-boat,  and  fix  the  fellow  soon." 

Down  fell  that  pretty  innocent,  as  falls  a  snow-white  lamb; 

Her  hair  drooped  round  her  pallid  cheeks,  like  sea-weed  on 
a  clam. 

Alas  for  those  two  loving  ones!  she  waked  not  from  her 

swound, 
And  he  was  taken  with  the  cramp,  and  in  the  waves  was 

drowned ; 
But  Fate  has  metamorphosed  them,  in  pity  of  their  wo, 
And  now  they  keep  an  oyster-shop  for  mermaids  down  below. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  WELL  OF  ST.  KEYNE 

A  WELL  there  is  in  the  west  country, 
And  a  clearer  one  never  was  seen; 
There  is  not  a  wife  in  the  west  country 
But  has  heard  of  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne. 

An  oak  and  an  elm-tree  stand  beside. 
And  behind  doth  an  ash-tree  grow. 
And  a  willow  from  the  bank  above 
Droops  to  the  water  below. 

A  traveller  came  to  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne, 
Joyfully  he  drew  nigh, 


I 


The  Well  af  St.  Keyne  685 

For  from  cock-crow  ho  had  been  travelling, 
And  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky. 

He  drank  of  the  water  so  cool  and  clear. 
For  thirsty  and  hot  was  he; 
And  he  sat  down  upon  the  bank 
Under  the  willow-tree. 

There  came  a  man  from  the  house  hard  by 
At  the  well  to  fill  his  pail; 
On  the  well-side  he  rested  it, 
And  he  bade  the  stranger  hail. 

"  Now  art  thou  a  bachelor,  stranger  ? "  quoth  he, 
"  For  an  if  thou  hast  a  wife. 
The  happiest  draught  thou  hast  drank  this  day 
That  ever  thou  didst  in  thy  life. 

"  Or  hast  thy  good  woman,  if  one  thou  hast. 
Ever  here  in  Cornwall  been? 
For  an  if  she  have,  I'll  venture  my  life 
She  has  drank  of  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne." 

"  I  have  left  a  good  woman  who  never  was  here," 
The  stranger  he  made  reply ; 

"  But  that  my  draught  should  be  the  better  for  that, 
I  pray  you  answer  me  why?" 

"  St.  Keyne,"  quoth  the  Oornishman,  ^'  many  a  time 

Drank  of  this  crystal  well. 

And  before  the  angels  summoned  her. 

She  laid  on  the  water  a  spell. 

"  If  the  husband  of  this  gifted  well 
Shall  drink  before  his  wife, 
A  happy  man  thenceforth  is  he, 
.For  he  shall  be  master  for  life. 

"  But  if  the  wife  should  drink  of  it  first, 
God  help  the  husband  then  I  " 


586  Narrative 

The  stranger  stooped  to  the  Well  of  St.  Keyne, 
And  drank  of  the  water  again. 

^'You  drank  of  the  well,  I  warrant,  betimes?" 
He  to  the  Cornishman  said: 

But  the  Cornishman  smiled  as  the  stranger  spake, 
And  sheepishly  shook  his  head. 

"  I  hasten'd  as  soon  as  the  wedding  was  done, 
And  left  my  wife  in  the  porch; 
But  i'  faith  she  had  been  wiser  than  me, 
For  she  took  a  bottle  to  church." 

Robert  Southey. 


THE  JACKDAW  OF  RHEIMS 

The  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair! 
Bishop,  and  Abbot,  and  Prior  were  there; 

Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar. 

Many  a  knight  and  many  a  squire. 
With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree — 
In  sooth,  a  goodly  company; 
And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended  knee. 

Never,  I  ween, 

Was  a  prouder  seen. 
Read  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams. 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims ! 

In  and  out 

Through  the  motley  rout, 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hopping  about; 

Here  and  there. 

Like  a  dog  in  a  fair. 

Over  comfits  and  cates. 

And  dishes  and  plates, 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall, 
Mitre  and  crosier,  he  hopped  upon  all! 

With  saucy  air. 

He  perched  on  the  chair 
Where,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat; 


The  Jackdaw  of  Rheims  687 

And  he  peered  in  the  face 

Of  his  Lordship's  grace, 
With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 
"  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day ! " 

And  the  priests,  with  awe. 

As  such  freaks  they  saw. 
Said,  "  The  devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw  I  " 

The  feast  was  orer,  the  board  was  cleared, 
The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappeared. 
And  six  little  singing-boys — dear  little  souls! 
In  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoles. 

Came,  in  order  due, 

Two  by  two, 
Marching  that  grand  refectory  through ! 

A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer. 
Embossed  and  filled  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy  stood  ready  to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand-basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys,  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water  and  eau-de-Cologne; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap, 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 

One  little  boy  more 

A  napkin  bore. 
Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
And  a  cardinal's  hat  marked  in  "  permanent  ink." 

The  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dressed  all  in  white: 

From  his  finger  he  draws 

His  costly  turquoise. 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight 

By  the  side  of  his  plate. 
While  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait; 
Till,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing, 
That  little  Jackdaw  hops  off  with  the  ring! 


b 


588  Narrative 

There's  a  cry  and  a  shout. 

And  a  deuce  of  a  rout, 
And  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turned  inside  out; 

The  friars  are  kneeling, 

And  hunting  and  feeling 
The  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and  the  ceiling. 

The  Cardinal  drew 

Off  each  plum-coloured  shoe. 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view; 

He  peeps  and  he  feels, 

In  the  toes  and  the  heels ; 
They  turn  up  the  dishes,  they  turn  up  the  plates. 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  grates. 

They  turn  up  the  rugs, 

They  examine  the  mugs — 

But  no!  no  such  thing; 

They  can't  find  the  ring  ! 
And  the  Abbot  declared  that  "  when  nobody  twigged  it. 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popped  in  and  prigged  it." 


The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look, 

He  called  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book! 

In  holy  anger  and  pious  grief, 

He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief! 

He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 

From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head ; 

He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 

He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a  fright; 

He  cursed  him  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in  drinking, 

He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in  winking ; 

He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying; 

He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying; 

He  cursed  him  in  living,  he  cursed  him  in  dying! — 
Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse! 
But,  what  gave  rise 
To  no  little  surprise, 
Nobody  seemed  one  penny  the  worse  I 


The  Jackdaw  of  Rheims  589 

The  day  was  gone, 

The  night  came  on, 
The  monks  and  the  friars  they  searched  till  dawn; 
.     When  the  Sacristan  saw, 

On  crumpled  claw, 
Come  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw; 

No  longer  gay. 

As  on  yesterday; 
His  feathers  all  seemed  to  be  turned  the  wrong  way; 
His  pinions  drooped,  he  could  hardly  stand, 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm  of  your  hand; 

His  eye  so  dim. 

So  wasted  each  limb. 
That,  heedless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried  "  That's  him  ! 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous  thing! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's  ring !  " 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw, 
.When  the  monks  he  saw. 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw. 
And  turned  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way !  " 

Slower  and  slower 

He  limped  on  before. 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  of  the  belfry  door, 

Where  the  first  thing  they  saw. 

Midst  the  sticks  and  the  straw. 
Was  the  RING  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  called  for  his  book, 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took; 

The  mute  expression 

Served  in  lieu  of  confession, 
And,  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution. 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution! 

When  these  words  were  heard, 

That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  'twas  really  absurd; 

He  grew  sleek  and  fat; 

In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  mat! 


590  Narrative 

His  tail  waggled  more 

Even  than  before; 
But  no  longer  it  wagged  with  an  impudent  air, 
No  longer  he  perched  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopped  now  about 

With  a  gait  devout; 
At  matins,  at  vespers,  he  never  was  out; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds. 
He  always  seemed  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 

If  any  one  lied,  or  if  any  one  swore, 

Or  slumbered  in  prayer-time  and  happened  to  snore, 

That  good  Jackdaw 

Would  give  a  great  "  Caw!  " 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  do  so  any  more! " 
While  many  remarked,  as  his  manners  they  saw, 
That  they  "never  had  known  such  a  pious  Jackdaw!" 

He'*long  lived  the  pride 

Of  that  country  side, 
And  at  last  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  died; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint 

His  merits  to  paint. 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint; 
And  on  newly-made  Saints  and  Popes,  as  you  know, 
It's  the  custom,  at  Home,  new  names  to  bestow, 
So  they  canonised  him  by  the  name  of  Jim  Crow! 

Richard  Harris  Barham. 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY 

The  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, 

The  Lady  Jane  was  fair 
And  Sir  Thomas,  her  lord,  was  stout  of  limb. 
And  his  cough  was  short,  and  his  eyes  were  dim. 
And  he  wore  green  "  specs  "  with  a  tortoise  shell  rim, 
And  his  hat  was  remarkably  broad  in  the  brim, 
And  she  was  uncommonly  fond  of  him — 

And  they  were  a  loving  pair! 
And  wherever  they  went,  or  wherever  they  came, 
Every  one  hailed  them  with  loudest  acclaim; 


The  Knight  and  the  Lady  591 

Far  and  wide, 

The  people  cried, 
All  sorts  of  pleasure,  and  no  sort  of  pain, 
To  Sir  Thomas  the  good,  and  the  fair  Lady  Janel 

Now  Sir  Thomas  the  good,  be  it  well  understood, 

Was  a  man  of  very  contemplative  mood — 

He  would  pour  by  the  hour,  o'er  a  weed  or  a  flower, 

Or  the  slugs,  that  came  crawling  out  after  a  shower; 

Black  beetles,  bumble-bees,  blue-bottle  flies, 

And  moths,  were  of  no  small  account  in  his  eyes; 

An  "  industrious  flea,"  he'd  by  no  means  despise. 

While  an  "  old  daddy  long-legs,"  whose  long  legs  and  thighs 

Passed  the  common  in  shape,  or  in  color,  or  size, 

He  was  wont  to  consider  an  absolute  prize. 

Giving  up,  in  short,  both  business  and  sport,  he 

Abandoned  himself,  tout  entier,  to  philosophy. 

Now  as  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim. 

And  Lady  Jane  was  fair. 
And  a  good  many  years  the  junior  of  him. 
There  are  some  might  be  found  entertaining  a  notion. 
That  such  an  entire,  and  exclusive  devotion. 
To  that  part  of  science,  folks  style  entomology, 

Was  a  positive  shame, 

And,  to  such  a  fair  dame, 
Keally  demanded  some  sort  of  apology; 
Ever  poking  his  nose  into  this,  and  to  that — 
At  a  gnat,  or  a  bat,  or  a  cat,  or  a  rat. 
At  great  ugly  things,  all  legs  and  wings. 
With  nasty  long  tails,  armed  with  nasty  long  stings 
And  eternally  thinking,  and  blinking,  and  winking, 
At  grubs — when  he  ought  of  her  to  be  thinking. 
But  no!  ah  no!  'twas  by  no  means  so 

With  the  fair  Lady  Jane, 

Tout  au  contraire,  no  lady  so  fair. 
Was  e'er  known  to  wear  more  contented  an  air; 
And — let  who  would  call — every  day  she  was  there 
Propounding  receipts  for  some  delicate  fare. 
Some  toothsome  conserve,  of  quince,  apple  or  pear 
Or  distilling  strong  waters — or  potting  a  hare — 


592  Narrative 

Or  counting  her  spoons,  and  lier  crockery  ware; 
Enough  to  make  less  gifted  visitors  stare. 

Nay  more;  don't  suppose 

With  such  doings  as  those 
This  account  of  her  merits  must  come  to  a  close; 
No ! — examine  her  conduct  more  closely,  you'll  find 
She  by  no  means  neglected  improving  her  mind; 
For  there  all  the  while,  with  an  air  quite  bewitching 
She  sat  herring-boning,  tambouring,  or  stitching. 
Or  having  an  eye  to  affairs  of  the  kitchen. 

Close  by  her  side, 

Sat  her  kinsman,  MacBride — 
Captain  Dugald  MacBride,  Royal  Scots  Fusiliers; — 
And  I  doubt  if  you'd  find,  in  the  whole  of  his  clan, 
A  more  highly  intelligent,  worthy  young  man; 

And  there  he'd  be  sitting. 

While  she  was  a-knitting, 
Reading  aloud,  with  a  very  grave  look. 
Some  very  "  wise  saw,"  from  some  very  good  book — 

No  matter  who  came. 

It  was  always  the  same. 
The  Captain  was  reading  aloud  to  the  dame, 
Till,  from  having  gone  through  half  the  books  on  the  shelf, 
They  were  almost  as  wise  as  Sir  Thomas  himself. 

Well  It  happened  one  day — 

I  really  can't  say 
The  particular  month; — but  T  thinJe  'twas  in  May, 
'Twas  I  know  in  the  spring-time,  when  "  nature  looks  gay," 
As  the  poet  observes — and  on  tree-top  and  spray, 
The  dear  little  dickey  birds  carol  away, 
That  the  whole  of  the  house  was  thrown  into  affright, 
For  no  soul  could  conceive  what  was  gone  with  the  Knight. 

It  seems  he  had  taken 

A  light  breakfast — bacon. 
An  egg,  a  little  broiled  haddock — at  most 
A  round  and  a  half  of  some  hot  buttered  toast, 
With  a  slice  of  cold  sirloin  from  yesterday's  roast. 


The  Knight  and  the  Lady  593 

And  then,  let  me  see, — 

He  had  two, — perhaps  three 
Cups,  with  sugar  and  cream,  of  strong  gunpowder  tea, — 

But  no  matter  for  that — 

He  had  called  for  his  hat, 
With  the  brim  that  I've  said  was  so  broad  and  so  flat, 
And  his  "specs"  with  the  tortoise-shell  rim,  and  his  cane. 
With  the  crutch-handled  top,  which  he  used  to  sustain 
His  steps  in  his  walk,  or  to  poke  in  the  shrubs 
Or  the  grass,  when  unearthing  his  worms  or  his  grubs; 
Thus  armed  he  set  out  on  a  ramble — a-lack! 
He  set  out,  poor  dear  soul! — but  he  never  came  back! 

"First  dinner  bell"  rang 

Out  its  euphonous  clang 
At  five — folks  kept  early  hours  then — and  the  "  last " 
Ding-donged,  as  it  ever  was  wont,  at  half-past. 
Still  the  master  was  absent — the  cook  came  and  said,  he 
Feared  dinner  would  spoil,  having  been  so  long  ready. 
That  the  puddings  her  ladyship  thought  such  a  treat 
He  was  morally  sure,  would  be  scarce  fit  to  eat! 
Said  the  lady,  "  Dish  up!    Let  the  meal  be  served  straight, 
And  let  two  or  three  slices  be  put  on  a  plate. 
And  kept  hot  for  Sir  Thomas." — Captain  Dugald  said  grace, 
Then  set  himself  down  in  Sir  Thomas'  place. 


Wearily,  wearily,  all  that  night, 

That  live-long  night  did  the  hours  go  by; 
And  the  Lady  Jane, 
In  grief  and  pain, 
She  sat  herself  down  to  cry! 
And  Captain  MacBride, 
Who  sat  by  her  side. 
Though  I  really  can't  say  that  he  actually  cried, 

At  least  had  a  tear  in  his  eye ! 
As  much  as  can  well  be  expected,  perhaps, 
From  "  very  young  fellows,"  for  very  "  old  chaps." 
And  if  he  had  said 
What  he'd  got  in  his  head, 


594  Narrative 

The  morning  dawned — and  the  next — and  the  next 
And  all  in  the  mansion  were  still  perplexed ; 

No  knocker  fell, 

His  approach  to  tell; 
Not  so  much  as  a  runaway  ring  at  the  bell. 

Yet  the  sun  shone  bright  upon  tower  and  tree, 
And  the  meads  smiled  green  as  green  may  be, 
And  the  dear  little  dickey  birds  caroled  with  glee. 
And  the  lambs  in  the  park  skipped  merry  and  free. — 
Without,  all  was  joy  and  harmony ! 

And  thus  'twill  be — nor  long  the  day — 
Ere  we,  like  him,  shall  pass  away! 
Yon  sun  that  now  our  bosoms  warms. 
Shall  shine — but  shine  on  other  forms; 
Yon  grove,  whose  choir  so  sweetly  cheers 
Us  now,  shall  sound  on  other  ears; 
The  joyous  lambs,  as  now,  shall  play, 
But  other  eyes  its  sports  survey; 
The  stream  we  loved  shall  roll  as  fair. 
The  flowery  sweets,  the  trim  parterre, 
Shall  scent,  as  now,  the  ambient  air; 
The  tree  whose  bending  branches  bear 
The  one  loved  ijame — shall  yet  be  there — 
But  where  the  hand  that  carved  it?    Where? 

These  were  hinted  to  me  as  the  very  ideas 
Which  passed  through  the  mind  of  the  fair  Lady  Jane, 
As  she  walked  on  the  esplanade  to  and  again, 

With  Captain  MacBride, 

Of  course  at  her  side, 
Who  could  not  look  quite  so  forlorn — though  he  tried, 
An  "  idea  "  in  fact,  had  got  into  his  head. 
That  if  "  poor  dear  Sir  Thomas  "  should  really  be  dead. 
It  might  be  no  bad  "  spec  "  to  be  there  in  his  stead. 
And  by  simply  contriving,  in  due  time,  to  wed 

A  lady  who  was  young  and  fair, 

A  lady  slim  and  tall, 
To  set  himself  down  in  comfort  there, 

The  lord  of  Tapton  Hall. 


The  Knight  and  the  Lady  595 

Thinks  he,  "  We  have  sent 

Half  over  Kent, 
And  nobody  knows  how  much  money's  been  spent, 
Yet  no  one's  been  found  to  say  which  way  he  went! 
Here's  a  fortnight  and  more  has  gone  by,  and  we've  tried 
Every  plan  we  could  hit  on — and  had  him  well  cried 

*  Missing!!    Stolen  or  Strayed, 

Lost  or  Mislaid, 
A  Gentleman; — middle-aged,  sober  and  staid; 
Stoops  slightly; — and  when  he  left  home  was  arrayed 
In  a  sad-colored  suit,  somewhat  dingy  and  frayed; 
Had  spectacles  on  with  a  tortoise-shell  rim. 
And  a  hat  rather  low  crowned,  and  broad  in  the  brim. 

Whoe'er  shall  bear. 

Or  send  him  with  car^ 
(Right  side  uppermost)  home;  or  shall  give  notice  where 
Said  middle-aged  Gentleman  is;  or  shall  state 
Any  fact,  that  may  tend  to  throw  light  on  his  fate. 
To  the  man  at  the  turnpike,  called  Tappington  Gate, 
Shall  receive  a  reward  of  Five  Pounds  for  his  trouble. 
N.B.  If  defunct,  the  Reward  will  be  double ! ! ' 

"  Had  he  been  above  ground. 

He  must  have  been  found. 
No;  doubtless  he's  shot — or  he's  hanged — or  he's  drowned! 

Then  his  widow — ayi  ay!  -  " 

But  what  will  folks  say? — 
To  address  her  at  once,  at  so  early  a  day. 
Well — what  then — who  cares! — let  'em  say  what  they  may." 

When  a  man  has  decided 

As  Captain  MacBride  did. 
And  once  fully  made  up  his  mind  on  the  matter,  he 
Can't  be  too  prompt  in  unmasking  his  battery. 
He  began  on  the  instant,  and  vowed  that  her  eyes 
Far  exceeded  in  brilliance  the  stars  in  the  skies; 
That  her  lips  were  like  roses,  her  cheeks  were  like  lilies; 
Her  breath  had  the  odor  of  daffadowndillies ! — 
With  a  thousand  more  compliments,  equally  true. 
Expressed  in  similitudes  equally  new! 

Then  his  left  arm  he  placed 

Round  her  jimp,  taper  waist — 


596  Narrative 

Ere  she  fixed  to  repulse  or  return  his  embrace, 

Up  came  running  a  man  at  a  deuce  of  a  pace, 

With  that  very  peculiar  expression  of  face 

Which  always  betokens  dismay  or  disaster, 

Crying  out — 'twas  the  gard'ner — "Oh,  ma'am!  we've  found 

master!!  " 
"  Where !  where  ? "  screamed  the  lady ;  and  echo  screamed, 
"Where?" 

The  man  couldn't  say  "  there !  " 

He  had  no  breath  to  spare, 
But  gasping  for  breath  he  could  only  respond 
By  pointing — he  pointed,  alas!  to  the  pond. 
'Twas  e'en  so;  poor  dear  Knight,  with  his  "specs"  and  his 

hat, 
He'd  gone  poking  his  nose  iiy:o  this  and  to  that; 
When  close  to  the  side  of  the  bank,  he  espied 
An  uncommon  fine  tadpole,  remarkably  fat ! 

He  stooped ; — and  he  thought  her 

His  own ; — he  had  caught  her ! 
Got  hold  of  her  tail — and  to  land  almost  brought  her, 
When — he  plumped  head  and  heels  into  fifteen  feet  water  1 


The  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim, . 

The  Lady  Jane  was  fair, 
Alas!  for  Sir  Thomas! — she  grieved  for  him, 
As  she  saw  two  serving  men  sturdy  of  limb, 

His  body  between  them  bear; 
She  sobbed  and  she  sighed,  she  lamented  and  cried, 

For  of  sorrow  brimful  was  her  cup ; 
She  swooned,  and  I  think  she'd  have  fallen  down  and  died. 
If  Captain  MacBride 
Hadn't  been  by  her  side 
With  the  gardener; — they  both  their  assistance  supplied. 
And  managed  to  hold  her  up. 
But  when  she  "  comes  to," 
Oh !  'tis  shocking  to  view 
The  sight  which  the  corpse  reveals! 
Sir  Thomas'  body. 
It  looked  so  odd — he 
Was  half  eaten  up  by  the  eels  I 


The   Knight  and  the  Lady  697 

His  waistcoat  and  hose. 

And  the  rest  of  his  clothes, 
Were  all  gnawed  through  and  through; 

And  out  of  each  shoe, 

An  eel  they  drew; 
And  from  each  of  his  pockets  they  pulled  out  two! 
And  the  gardener  himself  had  secreted  a  few, 

As  well  might  bo  supposed  he'd  do, 
For,  when  he  came  running  to  give  the  alarm, 
He  had  six  in  the  basket  that  hung  on  his  arm. 


Good  Father  John  was  summoned  anon; 

Holy  water  was  sprinkled  and  little  bells  tinkled, 

And  tapers  were  lighted. 

And  incense  ignited, 
And  masses  were  sung,  and  masses  were  said, 
All  day,  for  the  quiet  repose  of  the  dead, 
And  all  night  no  one  thought  about  going  to  bed. 

But  Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim. 

And  Lady  Jane  was  fair. 
And  ere  morning  came,  that  winsome  dame 
Had  made  up  her  mind,  or — what's  much  the  same — 
Had  thought  about,  once  more  "  changing  her  name," 

And  she  said  with  a  pensive  air. 
To  Thompson  the  valet,  while  taking  away, 
When  supper  was  over,  the  cloth  and  the  tray, 
"  Eels  a  many  I've  ate;  but  any 

So  good  ne'er  tasted  before! — 
They're  a  fish  too,  of  which  I'm  remarkably  fond — 
Go — pop  Sir  Thomas  again  in  the  pond — 
Poor  dear! — he*ll  catch  us  some  more/* 

MORAL 

All  middle-aged  gentlemen  let  me  advise, 

If  you're  married,  and  hav'n't  got  very  good  eyes. 

Don't  go  poking  about  after  blue-bottle  flies. 

If  you've  spectacles,  don't  have  a  tortoise-shell  rim, 

And  don't  go  near  the  water — unless  you  can  swim. 


598  Narrative 

Married  ladies,  especially  such  as  are  fair. 
Tall  and  slim,  I  would  next  recommend  to  beware, 
How,  on  losing  one  spouse,  they  give  way  to  despair, 
But  let  them  reflect,  there  are  fish,  and  no  doubt  on't. 
As  good  in  the  river,  as  ever  came  out  on't. 

Richard  Harris  Bar  ham. 


AN  EASTERN  QUESTION 

My  William  was  a  soldier,  and  he  says  to  me,  says  he, 
"  My  Susan,  I  must  sail  across  the  South  Pacific  sea ; 
Eor  we've  got  to  go  to  Egypt  for  to  fight  the  old  Khedive; 
But  when  he's  dead  I'll  marry  you,  as  sure  as  I'm  alive!  " 

'Twere  hard  for  me  to  part  with  him;  he  couldn't  read  nor 

write, 
So  I  never  had  love  letters  for  to  keep  my  memory  bright; 
But  Jim,  who  is  our  footman,  took  the  Daily  Telegraph, 
And  told  me  William's  reg-i-ment  mowed  down  the  foe  like 

chaff. 


So  every  day  Jim  come  to  me  to  read  the  Eastern  news, 
And  used   to  bring  me  bouquets,   which  I   scarcely  could 

refuse ; 
Till  one  fine  day  it  happened — hgw  it  happened,  goodness 

knows, — 
He  put  his  arm  around  me  and  he  started  to  propose. 


I  put  his  hand  from  off  me,  and  I  said  in  thrilling  tones, 
"  I  like  you,  Jim,  but  never  will  T  give  up  William  Jones; 
It  ain't  no  good  your  talking,  for  my  heart  is  firm  and  fixed 
For  William  is  engaged  to  me,  and  naught  shall  come  be- 
twixt." 


So  Jim  he  turned  a  ghastly  pale  to  find  there  was  no  hope; 
And  made  remarks  about  a  pond,  and  razors,  and  a  rope ; 
The  other  servants  pitied  him,  and  Rosie  said  as  much; 
But  Rosie  was  too  flighty,  and  he  didn't  care  for  such. 


An  Eastern  Question  599 

The  weeks  and  months  passed  slowly,  till  I  heard  the  Eastern 

war 
Was  over,  and  my  William  would  soon  be  home  once  more; 
And  I  was  proud  and  happy  for  I  knew  that  I  could  say 
I'd  been  true  to  my  sweet  William  all  the  years  he'd  been 

away. 

Says  Jim  to  me,  "  I  love  you.  Sue,  you  know  full  well  I  do, 
And  evermore  whilst  I  draw  breath  I  vow  I  will  be  true; 
But  my  feelings  are  too  sensitive,  I  really  couldn't  stand 
A-seeing  of  that  soldier  taking  hold  your  little  hand. 

*^So  I've  made  my  mind  up  finally  to  throw  myself  away; 
There's  Kosie  loves  me  truly,  and  no  more  I'll  say  her  nay; 
I've  bought  a  hat  on  purpose,  and  I'm  going  to  hire  a  ring. 
And  I've  borrowed  father's  wedding  suit  that  looks  the  very 
thing." 

So  Jim  he  married  Rosie,  just  the  very  day  before 
My  William's  reg-i-ment  was  due  to  reach  their  native  shore; 
T  was  there  to  see  him  landed  and  to  give  him  welcome  home. 
And  take  him  to  my  arms  from  which  he  never  more  should 
roam. 

But  I  couldn't  see  my  William,  for  the  men  were  all  alike. 
With  their  red  coats  and  their  rifles,  and  their  helmets  with  a 

spike ; 
So  I  curtseys  to  a  sergeant  who  was  smiling  very  kind, 
"Where's   William    Jones?"   I   asks   him,    "if    so   be   you 

wouldn't  mind?" 

Then  he  calls  a  gawky,  red-haired  chap,  that  stood  good  six- 
feet  two: 

"  Here,  Jones,"  he  cries,  "  this  lady  here's  enquiring  after 
you." 

"Not  me!"  I  says,  "I  want  a  man  who  'listed  from  our 
Square; 

With  a  small  moustache,  but  growing  fast,  and  bright  brown 
curly  hair." 


600  Narrative 

The  sergeant  wiped  his  eye,  and  took  his  helmet  from  his 

head, 
"  I'm  very  sorry,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "  that  William  Jones  is 

dead; 
He  died  from  getting  sunstroke,  and  we  envied  him  his  lot, 
For  we  were  melted  to  our  bones,  the  climate  was  that  hot! " 

So  that's  how  'tis  that  I'm  condemned  to  lead  a  single  life. 
For  the  sergeant,  who  was  struck  with  me,  already  had  a  wife; 
And  Jim  is  tied  to  Rosie,  and  can't  get  himself  untied, 
Whilst  the  man  that  I  was  faithful  to  has  been  and  gone 
.^  and  died ! 

H,  M.  Paull. 


MY  AUNT'S  SPECTRE 

They  tell  me  (but  I  really  can't 

Imagine  such  a  rum  thing), 
It  is  the  phantom  of  my  Aunt, 

Who  ran  away — or  something. 

It  is  the  very  worst  of  bores : 
(My  Aunt  was  most  delightful). 

It  prowls  about  the  corridors, 
And  utters  noises  frightful. 

At  midnight  through  the  rooms  It  glides, 

Behaving  very  coolly. 
Our  hearts  all  throb  against  our  sides — 

The  lights  are  burning  bluely. 

The  lady,  in  her  living  hours. 
Was  the  most  charming  vixen 

That  ever  this  poor  sex  of  ours 
Delighted  to  play  tricks  on. 

Yes,  that's  her  portrait  on  the  wall. 
In  quaint  old-fangled  bodice: 

Her  eyes  are  blue — her  waist  is  small — 
A  ghost!    Pooh,  pooh, — a  goddess! 


Casey  at  the  Bat  601 

A  fine  patrician  shape,  to  suit 

My  dear  old  father's  sister — 
Lips  softly  curved,  a  dainty  foot : 

Happy  the  man  that  kissed  her  I 

Light  hair  of  crisp  irregular  curl 

Over  fair  shoulders  scattered — 
Egad,  she  was  a  pretty  girl, 

Unless  Sir  Thomas  flattered! 

And  who  the  deuce,  in  these  bright  days. 

Could  possibly  expect  her 
To  take  to  dissipated  ways, 

And  plague  us  as  a  spectre  ? 

Mortimer  Collins. 


CASEY  AT  THE  BAT 

Tt  looked  extremely  rocky  for  the  Mudville  nine  that  day. 
The  score  stood  four  to  six  ,with  but  an  inning  left  to  play. 
And  so,  when   Cooney  died  at  first,   and   Burrows  did   the 

same,^^v>,j^ 
A  pallor  wreathed  the  features  of  the  patrons  of  the  game. 
A  straggling  few  got  up  to  go,  leaving  there  the  rest. 
With   that  hope  which   springs   eternal   within   the   human 

breast. 
For  they  thought  if  only  Casey  could  get  a  whack  at  that, 
They'd  put  up  even  money  with  Casey  at  the  bat. 
But  Flynn  preceded  Casey,  and  likewise  so  did  Blake, 
And  the  former  was  a  pudding  and  the  latter  was  a  fake; 
So  on  that  stricken  multitude  a  death-like  silence  sat. 
For  there  seemed  but  little  chance  of  Casey's  getting  to  the 

bat. 
But  Flynn  let  drive  a  single  to  the  wonderment  of  all. 
And  the  much  despised  Blakey  tore  the  cover  off  the  ball, 
And   when   the   dust   had   lifted   and   they    saw   wh^   had 

occurred, 
There   was   Blakey-  safe  on   second,   and   Flynn    a-hugging 

third. 


602  Narrative 

Then  from  the  gladdened  multitude  went  up  a  joyous  yell, 
It  bounded  from  the  mountain  top  and  rattled  in  the  dell, 
It  struck  upon  the  hillside,  and  rebounded  on  the  flat. 
For  Casey,  mighty  Casey,  was  advancing  to  the  bat. 
There  was  ease  in  Casey's  manner  as  he  stepped  into  his 

place. 
There  was  pride  in  Casey's  bearing  and  a  smile  on  Casey's 

face, 
And  when  responding  to  the  cheers  he  lightly  doffed  his  hat, 
No  stranger  in  the  crowd  could  doubt,  'twas  Casey  at  the 

bat. 
Ten  thousand  eyes  were  on  him  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  with 

dirt. 
Five  thousand  tongues  applauded  as  he  wiped  them  on  his 

shirt; 
And   while  the  writhing  pitcher  ground   the  ball  into  his 

hip — 
Defiance  gleamed  from  Casey's  eye — a  sneer  curled  Casey's 

lip. 
And  now  the  leather-covered  sphere  came  hurtling  through 

the  air,  — 

And  Casey  stood  a-watching  it  in  haughty  grandeur  there; 
Close  by  the  sturdy  batsman  the  ball  unheeded  sped — 
*'  That  hain't  my  style,"  said  Casey—"  Strike  one,"  the  Um- 
pire said. 
From  the  bleachers  black  with  people  there  rose  a  sullen  roar. 
Like  the  beating  of  the  storm  waves  on  a  stern  and  distant 

shore, 
"Kill  him!  kill  the  Umpire!"  shouted  some  one  from  the 

stand — 
And  it's  likely  they'd  have  done  it  had  not  Casey  raised  his 

hand. 
With  a  smile  of  Christian  charity  great  Casey's  visage  shone. 
He  stilled  the  rising  tumult  and  he  bade  the  game  go  on ; 
He  signalled  to  the  pitcher  and  again  the  spheroid  flew. 
But   Casey   still   ignored   it   and   the   Umpire   said   "  Strike 

two." 
**  Fraud !  "  yelled  the  maddened  thousands,  and  the  echo  an- 
swered "  Fraud," 
But  one  scornful   look   from   Casey   and   the   audience  was 
awed ; 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  603 

They  saw  his  face  grow  stern  and  cold;  they  saw  his  muscles 

strain, 
And  they  knew  that  Casey  would  not  let  that  ball  go  by 

again. 
The  sneer  is  gone  from  Casey's  lip;  his  teeth  are  clenched 

with  hate, 
He  pounds  with  cruel  violence  his  bat  upon  the  plate; 
And  now  the  pitcher  holds  the  ball,  and  now  he  lets  it  go, 
And  now  the  air  is  shattered  by  the  force  of  Casey's  blow. 
Oh!    somewhere   in   this   favored   land   the   sun   is    shining 

bright. 
The  band  is  playing  somewhere,  and  somewhere  hearts  are 

light, 
And  somewhere  men  are  laughing,  and  somewhere  children 

shout; 
But  there  is  no  joy  in  Mudville — mighty  Casey  has  "  Struck 

Out."  ,^ 

Ernest  Lawrence  Thayer. 


THE  PIED  PIPER  OF  HAMELIN 

Hamelin  Town's  in  Brunswick, 
By  famous  Hanover  City; 

The  river  Weser,  deep  and  wide, 

Washes  its  wall  on  the  southern  side; 

A  pleasanter  spot  you  never  spied; 
But.  when  begins  my  ditty, 

Almost  five  hundred  years  ago, 

To  see  the  townsfolk  suffer  so 
From  vermin  was  a  pity. 


Rats! 

They  fought  the  dogs,  and  killed  the  cats, 
And  bit  the  babies  in  the  cradles, 

And  ate  the  cheeses  out  of  the  vats, 

And  licked  the  soup  from  the  cook's  own  ladles, 
Split  open  the  kegs  of  salted  sprats, 
Made  nests  inside  men's  Sunday  hats. 
And  even  spoiled  the  women's  chats, 


604  Narrative 

By  drowning  their  speaking 
With  shrieking  and  squeaking 
In  fifty  different  sharps  and  flats. 

At  last  the  people  in  a  body 

To  the  Town  Hall  came  flocking: 
"  Tis  clear,"  cried  they,  "  our  Mayor's  a  noddy 

And  as  for  our  Corporation — shocking 
To  think  we  buy  gowns  lined  with  ermine 
For  dolts  that  can't  or  won't  determine 
What's  best  to  rid  us  of  our  vermin! 
You  hope,  because  you're  old  and  obese, 
To  find  in  the  furry  civic  robe  ease? 
Rouse  up,  Sirs!    Give  your  brains  a  racking 
To  find  the  remedy  we're  lacking, 
Or,  sure  as  fate,  we'll  send  you  packing!" 
At  this  the  Mayor  and  Corporation 
Quaked  with  a  mighty  consternation. 

An  hour  they  sate  in  council, 

At  length  the  Mayor  broke  silence : 
"  For  a  guilder  I'd  my  ermine  gown  sell! 

I  wish  I  were  a  mile  hence! 
It's  easy  to  bid  one  rack  one's  brain — 
I'm  sure  my  poor  head  aches  again 
I've  scratched  it  so,  and  all  in  vain. 
Oh,  for  a  trap,  a  trap,  a  trap ! " 

Just  as  he  said  this,  what  should  hap 
At  the  chamber  door  but  a  gentle  tap? 
"Bless  us,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "what's  that?" 
(With  the  Corporation  as  he  sat, 
Looking  little  though  wondrous  fat; 
Nor  brighter  was  his  eye,  nor  moister, 
Than  a  too-long-opened  oyster. 
Save  when  at  noon  his  paunch  grew  mutinous 
For  a  plate  of  turtle  green  and  glutinous), 
"  Only  a  scraping  of  shoes  on  the  mat? 
Anything  like  the  sound  of  a  rat 
Makes  my  heart  go  pit-a-pat !  " 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamclin  605 

"Come  in!" — the  Mayor  cried,  looking  bigger: 

And  in  did  come  the  strangest  figure. 

His  queer  long  coat  from  heel  to  head 

Was  half  of  yellow  and  half  of  red; 

And  he  himself  was  tall  and  thin, 

With  sharp  blue  eyes,  each  like  a  pin, 

And  light  loose  hair,  yet  swarthy  skin, 

No  tuft  on  cheek  nor  beard  on  chin, 

But  lips  where  smiles  went  out  and  in; 

There  was  no  guessing  his  kith  and  kin; 

And  nobody  could  enough  admire 

The  tall  man  and  his  quaint  attire. 

Quoth  one:  "It's  as  my  great  grandsire. 

Starting  up  at  the  Trump  of  Doom's  tone. 

Had  walked  this  way  from  his  painted  tombstone ! " 

He  advanced  to  the  council-table ; 

And,  "  Please  your  honours,"  said  he,  "  I'm  able, 

By  means  of  a  secret  charm,  to  draw 

All  creatures  living  beneath  the  sun. 

That  creep  or  swim  or  fly  or  run, 

After  me  so  as  you  never  saw! 

And  I  chiefly  use  my  charm 

On  creatures  that  do  people  harm. 

The  mole  and  toad  and  newt  and  viper; 

And  people  call  me  the  Pied  Piper." 

(And  here  they  noticed  round  his  neck 

A  scarf  of  red  and  yellow  stripe, 

To  match  with  his  coat  of  the  selfsame  cheque ; 

And  at  the  scarf's  end  hung  a  pipe; 

And  his  fingers,  they  noticed,  were  ever  straying 

As  if  impatient  to  be  playing  <^' 

Upon  this  pipe,  as  low  it  dangled 

Over  his  vesture  so  old-fangled.) 

"Yet,"  said  he,  "poor  piper  as  I  am. 

In  Tartary  T  freed  the  Cham, 

Last  June,  from  his  huge  swarms  of  gnats; 

I  eased  in  Asia  the  Nizam 

Of  a  monstrous  brood  of  vampyre  bats : 

And  as  for  what  your  brain  bewilders, 

If  I  can  rid  your  town  of  rats, 


606  Narrative 

Will  you  give  me  a  thousand  guilders?" 

"  One  ?  fifty  thousand !  "  was  the  exclamation 

Of  the  astonished  Mayor  and  Corporation. 

Into  the  street  the  Piper  stept, 

Smiling  first  a  little  smile, 
As  if  he  knew  what  magic  slept 

In  his  quiet  pipe  the  while; 
Then,  like  a  musical  adept. 
To  blow  the  pipe  his  lips  he  wrinkled. 
And  green  and  blue  his  sharp  eyes  twinkled 
Like  a  candle  flame  where  salt  is  sprinkled; 
And  ere  three  shrill  notes  the  pipe  uttered, 
You  heard  as  if  an  army  muttered; 
And  the  muttering  grew  to  a  grumbling; 
And  the  grumbling  grew  to  a  mighty  rumbling; 
And  out  of  the  house  the  rats  came  tumbling. 
Great  rats,  small  rats,  lean  rats,  brawny  rats, 
Brown  rats,  black  rats,  grey  rats,  tawny  rats, 
Grave  old  plodders,  gay  young  f riskers, 

Fathers,  mothers,  uncles,  cousins, 
Cocking  tails  and  pricking  whiskers, 

Families  by  tens  and  dozens. 
Brothers,  sisters,  husbands,  wives — 
Followed  the  Piper  for  their  lives. 
From  street  to  street  he  piped  advancing. 
And  step  by  step  they  followed  dancing, 
Until  they  came  to  the  river  Weser 
Wherein  all  plunged  and  perished 
*       — Save  one,  who,  stout  as  Julius  Caesar, 
Swam  across  and  lived  to  carry 
(As  he  the  manuscript  he  cherished) 
To  Rat-land  home  his  commentary, 
Which  was,  "  At  the  first  shrill  notes  of  the  pipe, 
I  heard  a  sound  as  of  scraping  tripe, 
And  putting  apples  wondrous  ripe. 
Into  a  cider-press's  gripe: 
And  a  moving  away  of  pickle-tub  boards, 
And  a  leaving  ajar  of  conserve  cupboards, 
And  a  drawing  the  corks  of  train-oil-flasks, 
And  a  breaking  the  hoops  of  butter-casks : 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  607 

And  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice 

(Sweeter  far  than  by  harp  or  by  psaltery 

Is  breathed)  called  out,  Oh  rats,  rejoice! 

The  world  is  grown  to  one  vast  drysaltery  I 

So  munch  on,  crunch  on,  take  your  nuncheon. 

Breakfast,  supper,  dinner,  luncheon! 

And  just  as  a  bulky  sugar  puncheon. 

All  ready  staved,  like  a  great  sun  shone 

Glorious  scarce  an  inch  before  me. 

Just  as  methought  it  said,  Come,  bore  me! 

— I  found  the  Weser  rolling  o'er  me." 

You  should  have  heard  the  Hamelin  people 

Kinging  the  bells  till  they  rocked  the  steeple. 

"  Go,"  cried  the  Mayor,  "  and  get  long  poles ! 

Poke  out  the  nests  and  block  up  the  holes ! 

Consult  with  carpenters  and  builders, 

And  leave  in  our  town  not  even  a  trace 

Of  the  rats !  " — when  suddenly,  up  the  face 

Of  the  piper  perked  in  the  market-place, 

With  a  "  First,  if  you  please,  my  thousand  guilders ! " 

A  thousand  guilders!    The  Mayor  looked  blue; 

So  did  the  Corporation  too. 

For  council  dinners  made  rare  havock 

With  Claret,  Moselle,  Vin-de-Grave,  Hock; 

And  half  the  money  would  replenish 

Their  cellar's  biggest  butt  with  Rhenish. 

To  pay  this  sum  to  a  wandering  fellow 

With  a  gipsy  coat  of  red  and  yellow! 

"  Beside,"  quoth  the  Mayor  with  a  knowing  wink, 

"  Our  business  was  done  at  the  river's  brink; 

We  saw  with  our  eyes  the  vermin  sink. 

And  what's  dead  can't  come  to  life,  I  think. 

So,  friend,  we're  not  the  folks  to  shrink 

From  the  duty  of  giving  you  something  to  drink. 

And  a  matter  of  money  to  put  in  your  poke; 

But  as  for  the  guilders,  what  we  spoke 

Of  them,  as  you  very  well  know,  was  in  joke; 

Beside,  our  losses  have  made  us  thrifty: 

A  thousand  guilders  1    Comei  take  fifty  f 


608  Narrative 

The  Piper's  face  fell,  and  he  cried, 

"No  trifling!    I  can't  wait,  beside! 

I've  promised  to  visit  by  dinner  time 

Bagdad,  and  accept  the  prime 

Of  the  Head  Cook's  pottage,  all  he's  rich  in, 

For  having  left  in  the  Caliph's  kitchen, 

Of  a  nest  of  scorpions  no  survivor: 

With  him  I  proved  no  bargain-driver. 

With  you,  don't  think  I'll  bate  a  stiver! 

And  folks  who  put  me  in  a  passion 

May  find  me  pipe  after  another  fashion." 

"How?"  cried  the  Mayor,  "d'ye  think  I'll  brook 

Being  worse  treated  than  a  Cook  ? 

Insulted  by  a  lazy  ribald 

With  idle  pipe  and  vesture  piebald?  '     > 

You  threaten  us,  fellow?    Do  your  worst, 

Blow  your  pipe  there  till  you  burst ! " 

Once  more  he  stept  into  the  street; 

And  to  his  lips  again  * 

Laid  his  long  pipe  of  smooth  straight  cane; 

And  ere  he  blew  three  notes  (such  sweet 

Soft  notes  as  yet  musician's  cunning 

Never  gave  the  enraptured  air). 
There  was  a  rustling,  that  seemed  like  a  bustling 
Of  merry  crowds  justling  at  pitching  and  hustling. 
Small  feet  were  pattering,  wooden  shoes  clattering, 
Little  hands  clapping  and  little  tongues  chattering, 
And,  like  fowls  in  a  farmyard  when  barley  is  scattering. 
Out  came  the  children  running. 
All  the  little  boys  and  girls, 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  curls 
And  sparkling  eyes  and  teeth  like  pearls, 
Tripping  and  skipping,  ran  merrily  after 
The  wonderful  music  with  shouting  and  laughter. 

The  Mayor  was  dumb,  and  the  Council  stood 
As  if  they  were  changed  into  blocks  of  wood, 
Unable  to  move  a  step,  or  cry 
To  the  children  merrily  skipping  by. 
And  could  only  follow  with  the  eye 


The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin  609 

That  joyous  crowd  at  the  Piper's  back. 

But  how  the  Mayor  was  on  the  rack, 

And  the  wretched  Council's  bosoms  beat, 

As  the  Piper  turned  from  the  High  Street 

To  where  the  Weser  rolled  its  waters 

Eight  in  the  way  of  their  sons  and  daughters! 

However  he  turned  from  South  to  West, 

And  to  Koppelberg  Hill  his  steps  addressed, 

And  after  him  the  children  pressed; 

Great  was  the  joy  in  every  breast. 

"  He  never  can  cross  that  mi'ghty  top ! 

He's  forced  to  let  the  piping  drop, 
And  we  shall  see  our  children  stop !  " 
When,  lo,  as  they  reached  the  mountain's  side, 
A  wondrous  portal  opened  wide, 
As  if  a  cavern  were  suddenly  hollowed; 
And  the  Piper  advanced  and  the  children  followed. 
And  when  all  were  in  to  the  very  last, 
The  door  in  the  mountain-side  shut  fast. 
Did  I  say — all?     No!  one  was  lame. 
And  could  not  dance  the  whole  of  the  way; 
And  in  after  years,  if  you  would  blame 
His  sadness,  he  was  used  to  say, — 
"  It's  dull  in  our  town  since  my  playmates  left; 
I  can't  forget  that  I'm  bereft 
Of  all  the  pleasant  sights  they  see. 
Which  the  Piper  also  promised  me; 
For  he  led  us,  he  said,  to  a  joyous  land, 
Joining  the  town  and  just  at  hand. 
Where  waters  gushed  and  fruit-trees  grew, 
And  flowers  put  forth  a  fairer  hue, 
And  everything  was  strange  and  new; 
The  sparrows  were  brighter  than  peacocks  here, 
And  their  dogs  outran  our  fallow  deer, 
And  honey-bees  had  lost  their  stings; 
And  horses  were  born  with  eagle's  wings; 
And  just  as  I  became  assured 
My  lame  foot  would  be  speedily  cured, 
The  music  stopped,  and  I  stood  still. 
And  found  myself  outside  the  Hill, 
Left  alone  against  my  will, 


610  Narrative 

To  go  now  limping  as  before, 

And  never  hear  of  that  country  more ! " 

Alas,  alas,  for  Hamelin! 

There  came  into  many  a  burgher's  pate 

A  text  which  says,  that  Heaven's  Gate 

Opes  to  the  Rich  at  as  easy  rate 
As  the  needle's  eye  takes  a  camel  in ! 
The  Mayor  sent  East,  West,  North,  and  South, 
To  offer  the  Piper  by  word  of  mouth, 

Wherever  it  was  men's  lot  to  find  him. 
Silver  and  gold  to  his  heart's  content, 
If  he'd  only  return  the  way  he  went, 

And  bring  the  children  all  behind  him. 
But  when  they  saw  'twas  a  lost  endeavour, 
And  Piper  and  dancers  were  gone  for  ever. 
They  made  a  decree  that  lawyers  never 

Should  think  their  records  dated  duly 
If,  after  the  day  of  the  month  and  year, 
These  words  did  not  as  well  appear, 

"  And  so  long  after  what  happened  here 

On  the  twenty-second  of  July, 
Thirteen  hundred  and  seventy-six :  " 
And  the  better  in  memory  to  fix 
The  place  of  the  Children's  last  retreat. 
They  called  it  the  Pied  Piper's  Street — 
Where  any  one  playing  on  pipe  or  tabor 
Was  sure  for  the  future  to  lose  his  labour. 
Nor  suffered  they  hostelry  or  tavern 

To  shock  with  mirth  a  street  so  solemn; 
But  opposite  the  place  of  the  cavern 

They  wrote  the  story  on  a  column. 
And  on  the  great  Church  Window  painted 
The  same,  to  make  the  world  acquainted 
How  their  children  were  stolen  away. 
And  there  it  stands  to  this  very  d.ay. 
And  r  must  not  omit  to  say 
That  in  Transylvania  there's  a  tribe 
Of  alien  people  that  ascribe 
The  outlandish  ways  and  dress, 
On  which  their  neighbours  lay  such  stress, 


The  Goose  611 

To  their  fathers  and  mothers  having  risen 

Out  of  some  subterraneous  prison, 

Into  which  they  were  trepanned 

Long  time  ago  in  a  mighty  band 

Out  of  Hamelin  town  in  Brunswick  Land, 

But  how  or  why,  they  don't  understand. 

So,  Willy,  let  me  and  you  be  wipers 
Of  scores  out  with  all  men — especially  pipers; 
And,  whether  they  pipe  us  free  from  rats  or  from  mice, 
If  we've  promised  them  aught,  let  us  keep  our  promise. 

Robert  Browning. 


THE  GOOSE 

I  KNEW  an  old  wife  lean  and  poor, 

Her  rags  scarce  held  together; 
There  strode  a  stranger  to  the  door, 

And  it  was  windy  weather. 

He  held  a  goose  upon  his  arm. 

He  utter'd  rhyme  and  reason, 
"  Here,  take  the  goose,  and  keep  you  warm, 

It  is  a  stormy  season." 

She  caught  the  white  goose  by  the  leg, 
A  goose — 'twas  no  great  matter. 

The  goose  let  fall  a  golden  egg 
With  cackle  and  with  clatter. 

She  dropt  the  goose,  and  caught  the  peM, 
And  ran  to  tell  her  neighbours; 

And  bless'd  herself,  and  cursed  herself, 
And  rested  from  her  labours. 

And  feeding  high,  and  living  soft. 

Grew  plump  and  able-bodied; 
Until  the  grave  churchwarden  doff'd, 

The  parson  smirk'd  and  nodded. 


612  Narrative 

So  sitting,  served  by  man  and  maid, 
She  felt  her  heart  grow  prouder : 

But,  ah!  the  more  the  white  goose  laid 
It  clack'd  and  cackled  louder. 

It  clutter'd  here,  it  chuckled  there; 

It  stirr'd  the  old  wife's  mettle: 
She  shifted  in  her  elbow-chair. 

And  hurl'd  the  pan  and  kettle. 

"  A  quinsy  choke  thy  cursed  note !  " 
Then  wax'd  her  anger  stronger. 

"  Go,  take  the  goose,  and  wring  her  throat, 
I  will  not  bear  it  longer." 

Then  yelp'd  the  cur,  and  yawl'd  the  cat; 

Ran  GaflFer,  stumbled  Gammer. 
The  goose  flew  this  way  and  flew  that. 

And  fill'd  the  house  with  clamour. 

As  head  and  heels  upon  the  floor 
They  flounder'd  all  together, 

There  strode  a  stranger  to  the  door,    ' 
And  it  was  windy  weather : 

He  took  the  goose  upon  his  arm, 
He  utter'd  words  of  scorning; 

"  So  keep  you  cold,  or  keep  you  warm. 
It  is  a  stormy  morning." 

The  wild  wind  rang  from  park  and  plain. 
And  round  the  attics  rumbled, 

Till  all  the  tables  danced  again, 
And  half  the  chimneys  tumbled. 

The  glass  blew  in,  the  fire  blew  out, 
The  blast  was  hard  and  harder. 

Her  cap  blew  ofi^,  her  gown  blew  up, 
And  a  whirlwind  clear'd  the  larder: 


The  Ballad  of  Charity  613 

And  while  on  all  sides  breaking  loose 

Her  household  fled  the  danger, 
Quoth  she,  "  The  Devil  take  the  goose. 

And  God  forget  the  stranger !  " 

Lord  Tennyson. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  CHARITY 

It  was  in  a  pleasant  deepo,  sequestered  from  the  rain. 
That  many  weary  passengers  were  waitin'  fdr  the  train; 
Piles  of  quite  expensive  baggage,  many  a  gorgeous  portraanto, 
Ivory-handled  umberellas  made  a  most  touristic  show. 

Whereunto  there  came  a  person,  very  humble  was  his  mien, 

Who  took  an  observation  of  the  interestin'  scene; 

Closely  scanned  the  umberellas,  watched  with  joy  the  mighty 

trunks, 
And   observed   that  all  the  people  were   securin'   Pullman 

bunks : 

Who  was  followed  shortly  after  by  a  most  unhappy  tramp. 
Upon  whose  features  poverty  had  jounced  her  iron  stamp; 
And  to  make  a  clear  impression  as  bees  sting  you  while  they 

buzz, 
She  had  hit  him  rather  harder  than  she  generally  does. 

For  he  was  so  awful  ragged,  and  in  parts  so  awful  bare, 
That  the  folks  were  quite  repulsioned  to  behold  him  begging 

there ; 
And  instead  of  drawing  currency  from  out  their  pocket-books, 
They  drew  themselves  asunder  with  aversionary  looks. 

Sternly  gazed  the  first  newcomer  on  the  unindulgent  crowd, 
Then    in    tones    which    pierced    the    deepo    he    solilicussed 

aloud : — 
"  I  hev  trevelled  o'er  this  continent  from  Quebec  to  Bogotaw, 
But  sech  a  set  of  scallawags  as  these  I  never  saw. 

"  Ye  are  wealthy,  ye  are  gifted,  ye  have  house  and  lands  and 

rent. 
Yet  unto  a  suflTrin*  mortal  ye  will  not  donate  a  cent; 


014  Narrative 

Ye  expend  your  missionaries  to  the  heathen  and  the  Jew, 
But  there  isn't  any  heathen  that  is  half  as  small  as  you. 

"Ye  are  lucky — ye  hev  cheque-books  and  deeposits  in  the 

bank, 
And  ye  squanderate  your  money  on  the  titled  folks  of  rank ; 
The  onyx  and  the  sardonyx  upon  your  garments  shine, 
An'  ye  drink  at  every  dinner  p'r'aps  a  dollar's  wuth  of  wine. 

"  Ye  are  goin'  for  the  summer  to  the  islands  by  the  sea, 
Where  it  costs  four  dollars  daily — setch  is  not  for  setch  as 

me; 
Iv'ry-handled  umberellas  do  not  come  into  my  plan, 
But  I  kin  give  a  dollar  to  this  suff'rin'  fellow-man. 

"  Hand-bags  made  of  Kooshy  leather  are  not  truly  at  my 

call. 
Yet  in  the  eyes  of  Mussy  T  am  richer  'en  you  all, 
For  I  kin  give  a  dollar  wher'  you  dare  not  stand  a  dime. 
And  never  miss  it  nother,  nor  regret  it  ary  time." 

Sayin'  this  he  drew  a  wallet  from  the  inner  of  his  vest, 
And  gave  the  tramp  a  daddy,  which  it  was  his  level  best; 
Other  people  havin'  heard  him  soon  to  charity  inclined — 
One  giver  soon  makes  twenty  if  you  only  get  their  wind. 

The  first  who  gave  the  dollar  led  the  other  one  about, 
And  at  every  contribution  he  a-raised  a  joyful  shout, 
Exclaimin'  how  'twas  noble   to  relieviate  distress, 
And  remarkin'  that  our  duty  is  our  present  happiness. 

Thirty  dollars  altogether  were  collected  by  the  tramp, 
When  he  bid  'em  all  good  evenin'  and  went  out  into  the 

damp. 
And  was  followed  briefly  after  by  the  one  who  made  the 

speech, 
And  who  showed  by  good  example  how  to  practise  as  to 

preach. 

Which  soon  around  the  comer  the  couple  quickly  met, 

And  the  tramp  produced  the  specie  for  to  liquidate  his  debt; 


The  Post  Captain  615 

And  the  man  who  did  the  preachin'  took  his  twenty  of  the 

sum. 
Which  you  see  that  out  of  thirty  left  a  tenner  for  the  bum. 

And  the  couple  passed  the  summer  at  Bar  Harbor  with  the 
rest. 

Greatly    changed    in    their   appearance   and   most   elegently 
dressed. 

Any  fowl  with  change  of  feathers  may  a  brilliant  bird  be- 
come : 

Oh,  how   hard  is  life  for   many!   oh,   how  sweet   it  is  for 
some! 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland. 


THE  POST  CAPTAIN 

When   they  heard  the  Captain   humming   and   beheld   the 

dancing  crew. 
On  the  "  RoyaJ  Biddy  "  frigate  was  Sir  Peter  Bombazoo ; 
His  mind  was  full  of  music  and  his  head  was  full  of  tunes, 
And  he  cheerfully  exhibited  on  pleasant  afternoons. 

He  could  whistle,  on  his  fingers,  an  invigorating  reel, 
And  could  imitate  a  piper  on  the  handles  of  the  wheel; 
He  could  play  in  double  octaves,  too,  all  up  and  down  the 

rail. 
Or  rattle  off  a  rondo  on  the  bottom  of  a  pail. 

Then  porters  with  their  packages  and  bakers  with  their  buns, 
And  countesses  in  carriages   and  grenadiers  with  guns. 
And  admirals  and  commodores  arrived  from  near  and  far, 
To  listen  to  the  music  of  this  entertaining  tar. 

When    they   heard    the    Captain   humming   and   beheld    the 

dancing  crew, 
The  commodores  severely  said,  "Why,  this  will  never  do!" 
And  the  admirals  all   hurried   home,   remarking,   "  This   is 

most 
Extraordinary  conduct  for  a  captain  at  his  post." 


616  Narrative 

Then  they  sent  some  sailing-orders  to  Sir  Peter,  in  a  boat, 
And  he  did  a  little  fifing  on  the  edges  of  the  note; 
But  he  read  the  sailing  orders,  as  of  course  he  had  to  do, 
And  removed  the  "  Koyal  Biddy  "  to  the  Bay  of  Boohgabooh. 

Now,  Sir  Peter  took  it  kindly,  but  it's  proper  to  explain 
He  was  sent  to  catch  a  pirate  out  upon  the  Spanish  Main. 
And  he  played,  with  variations,  an  imaginary  tune 
On  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  like  a  jocular  bassoon. 

Then  a  topman  saw  the  pirate  come  a-sailing  in  the  bay, 
And  reported  to  the  Captain  in  the  ordinary  way. 
"  I'll  receive  him,"  said  Sir  Peter,  "  with  a  musical  salute," 
And  he  gave  some  imitations  of  a  double-jointed  flute. 

Then  the  Pirate  cried  derisively,  "  I've  heard  it  done  before!  " 
And  he  hoisted  up  a  banner  emblematical  of  gore. 
But  Sir  Peter  said  serenely,  "  You  may  double-shot  the  guns 
While  I  sing  my  little  ballad  of  '  The  Butter  on  the  Buns.' " 

Then  the  Pirate  banged  Sir  Peter  and  Sir  Peter  banged  him 

back, 
And  they  banged  away  together  as  they  took  another  tack. 
Then  Sir  Peter  said,  politely,  "  You  may  board  him,  if  you 

like," 
And  he  played  a  little  dirge  upon  the  handle  of  a  pike. 

Then  the   "  Biddies "  poured  like  hornets  down  upon  the 

Pirate's  deck 
And  Sir  Peter  caught  the  Pirate  and  he  took  him  by  the 

neck, 
And  remarked,  "  You  inust  excuse  me,  but  you  acted  like  a 

brute 
When  I  gave  my  imitation  of  that  double-jointed  flute." 

So  they  took  that  wicked  Pirate  and  they  took  his  wicked 

crew. 
And  tied  them  up  with  double  knots  in  packages  of  two. 
And  left  them  lying  on  their  backs  in  rows  upon  the  beach 
With  a  little  bread  and  water  within  comfortable  reach. 


Robinson  Crusoe's   Story  617 

Now  the  Pirate  had  a  treasure  (mostly  silverware  and  gold), 
And  Sir  Peter  took  and  stowed  it  in  the  bottom  of  his  hold; 
And  said,  "  I  will  retire  on  this  cargo  of  doubloons, 
And  each  of  you,  my  gallant  crew,  may  have  some  silver 
spoons." 

Now  commodores  in  coach-and-fours  and  corporals  in  cabs, 
And  men  with  carts  of  pies  and  tarts  and  fishermen  with 

crabs, 
And  barristers  with  wigs,  in  gigs,  still  gather  on  the  strand, 
But  there  isn't  any  music  save  a  little  German  band. 

Charles  E.  Carryl. 


ROBINSON  CRUSOE'S  STORY 

The  night  was  thick  and  hazy 

When  the  Piccadilly  Daisy 
Carried  down  the  crew  and  captain  in  the  sea; 

And  I  think   the  water  drowned  'em, 

For  they  never,  never  found  'em, 
And  I  know  they  didn't  come  ashore  with  me. 

Oh!  'twas  very  sad  and  lonely 

When  I  found  myself  the  only 
Population  on  this  cultivated  shore; 

But  I've  made  a  little  tavern 

In  a  rocky  little  cavern. 
And  T  sit  and  watch  for  people  at  the  door. 

I  spent  no  time  in  looking 

For  a  girl  to  do  my  cooking, 
As  I'm  quite  a  clever  hand  at  making  stews; 

But  I  had  that  fellow  Friday 

Just  to  keep  the  tavern  tidy, 
And  to  put  a  Sunday  polish  on  my  shoes. 

I  have  a  little  garden 
That  I'm  cultivating  lard  in. 
As  the  things  I  eat  are  rather  tough  and  dry; 


618  Narrative 

For  I  live  on  toasted  lizards. 
Prickly  pears  and  parrot  gizzards, 
And  I'm  really  very  fond  of  beetle  pie. 

The  clothes  I  had  were  furry, 

And  it  made  me  fret  and  worry 
When  I  found  the  moths  were  eating  off  the  hair; 

And  I  had  to  scrape  and  sand  'em, 

And  I  boiled  'em  and  I  tanned  'em, 
Till  I  got  the  fine  morocco  suit  I  wear. 

I  sometimes  seek  diversion 

In  a  family  excursion, 
With  the  few  domestic  animals  you  see; 

And  we  take  along  a  carrot 

As  refreshment  for  the  parrot, 
And  a  little  can  of  jungleberry  tea. 

Then  we  gather  as  we  travel 

Bits  of  moss  and  dirty  gravel, 
And  we  chip  off  little  specimens  of  stone; 

And  we  carry  home  as  prizes 

Funny  bugs  of  handy  sizes, 
Just  to  give  the  day  a  scientific  tone. 

If  the  roads  are  wet  and  muddy 

We  remain  at  home  and  study, — 
For  the  Goat  is  very  clever  at  a  sum, — 

And  the  Dog,  instead   of  fighting 

Studies  ornamental  writing, 
While  the  Cat  is  taking  lessons  on  the  drum. 

We  retire  at  eleven, 

And  we  rise  again  at  seven; 
And  I  wish  to  call  attention,  as  I  close. 

To  the  fact  that  all  the  scholars 

Are  correct  about  their  collars. 
And  particular  in  turning  out  their  toes. 

Charles  E.  Carryl. 


Ben  Bluff  619 


BEN  BLUFF 

Ben  Bluff  was  a  whaler,  and  many  a  day 
Had  chased  the  huge  fish  about  Baffin's  old  Bay; 
But  time  brought  a  change  his  diversion  to  spoil, 
And  that  was  when  Gas  took  the  shine  out  of  Oil. 

He  turned  up  his  nose  at  the  fumes  of  the  coke, 
And  swore  the  whole  scheme  was  a  bottle  of  smoke; 
As  to  London,  he  briefly  delivered  his  mind, 
^'  Sparma-city,"  said  he, — but  the  city  declined. 

So  Ben  cut  his  line  in  a  sort  of  a  huff, 
As  soon  as  his  whales  had  brought  profits  enough. 
And  hard  by  the  Docks  settled  down  for  his  life. 
But,  true  to  his  text,  went  to  Wales  for  a  wife. 

A  big  one  she  was,  without  figure  or  waist, 
More  bulky  than  lovely,  but  that  was  his  taste; 
In  fat  she  was  lapped  from  her  sole  to  her  crown, 
And,  turned  into  oil,  would  have  lighted  a  town. 

But  Ben,  like  a  whaler,  was  charmed  with  the  match, 
And  thought,  very  truly,  his  spouse  a  great  catch; 
A  flesh-and-blood  emblem  of  Plenty  and  Peace, 
And  would  not  have  changed  her  for  Helen  of  Greece! 

For  Greenland  was  green  in  his  memory  still; 
He'd  quitted  his  trade,  but  retained  the  good-will; 
And  often  when  softened  by  bumbo  and  flip, 
Would  cry  till  he  blubbered  about  his  old  ship. 

No  craft  like  the  Grampus  could  work  through  a  floe. 
What  knots  she  could  run,  and  what  tons  she  could  stow! 
And  then  that  rich  smell  he  preferred  to  the  rose, 
By  just  nosing  the  hold  without  holding  his  nose. 

Now  Ben  he  resolved,  one  fine  Saturday  night, 
A  snug  arctic  circle  of  friends  to  invite; 


620  Narrative 

Old  tars  in  the  trade,  who  related  old  tales, 

And  drank,  and  blew  clouds  that  were  "  very  like  whales." 

Of  course  with  their  grog  there  was  plenty  of  chat. 
Of  canting,  and  flenching,  and  cutting  up  fat; 
And  how  gun-harpoons  into  fashion  had  got. 
And  if  they  were  meant  for  the  gun-whale  or  not? 

At  last  they  retired,  and  left  Ben  to  his  rest. 

By  fancies  cetaceous  and  drink  well  possessed, 

When,  lo!  as  he  lay  by  his  partner  in  bed, 

He  heard  something  blow  through  two  holes  in  its  head! 

"  A  start ! "  muttered  Ben,  in  the  Grampus  afloat, 
And  made  but  one  jump  from  the  deck  to  the  boat! 
"  Huzza !  pull  away  for  the  blubber  and  bone, —  ' 

I  look  on  that  whale  as  already  my  own !  " 

Then  groping  about  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
He  soon  laid  his  hand  on  his  trusty  harpoon; 
A  moment  he  poised  it,  to  send  it  more  pat. 
And  then  made  a  plunge  to  imbed  it  in  f at ! 

"  Stam  all ! "  he  sang  out,  "  as  you  care  for  your  lives, — 
Starn  all!  as  you  hope  to  return  to  your  wives, — 
Stand  by  for  the  flurry !  she  throws  up  the  foam ! 
Well  done,  my  old  iron ;  iVe  sent  you  right  home ! " 

And  scarce  had  he  spoken,  when  lo!  bolt  upright 
The  leviathan  rose  in  a  great  sheet  of  white. 
And  swiftly  advanced  for  a  fathom  or  two. 
As  only  a  fish  out  of  water  could  do. 

"  Starn  all ! "  echoed  Ben,  with  a  movement  aback, 
But  too  slow  to  escape  from  the  creature's  attack; 
If  flippers  it  had,  they  were  furnished  with  nails, — 
"You  willin,  I'll  teach  you  that  women  ain't  whales!" 

"  Avast !  "  shouted  Ben,  with  a  sort  of  a  screech, 
"I've  heard  a  whale  spouting,  but  here  is  a  speech  I" 


I 


The  Pilgrims  and  the  Peas  621 

"  A-spouting,  indeed! — very  pretty,"  said  she; 

**  But  it's  you  I'll  blow  up,  not  the  froth  of  the  sea! 

"  To  go  to  pretend  to  take  me  for  a  fish ! 
You  great  polar  bear — but  I  know  what  you  wish; 
You're  sick  of  a  wife  that  your  hankering  balks, 
You  want  to  go  back  to  some  young  Esquimaux!" 

"  O  dearest,"  cried  Ben,  frightened  out  of  his  life, 

"  Don't  think  I  would  go  for  to  murder  a  wife 

I  must  long  have  bewailed!  "    But  she  only  cried,  "  Stuff!  " 

Don't  name  it,  you  brute,  you've  he-whaled  me  enough !  " 

"Lord,  Polly!"  said  Ben,  "such  a  deed  could  I  do? 
I'd  rather  have  murdered  all  Wapping  than  you! 
Come,  forgive  what  is  past."     "  O  you  monster ! "  she  cried, 
"  It  was  none  of  your  fault  that  it  passed  off  one  side! " 

However,  at  last  she  inclined  to  forgive; 
"  But,  Ben,  take  this  warning  as  long  as  you  live, — 
If  the  love  of  harpooning  so  strong  must  prevail. 
Take  a  whale  for  a  wife,^not  a  wife  for  a  whale ! " 

Thomas  Hood. 


THE  PILGRIMS  AND  THE  PEAS 

A  BRACE  of  sinners,  for  no  good, 

Were  order'd  to  the  Virgin  Mary's  shrine, 

Who  at  Loretto  dwelt,  in  wax,  stone,  wood. 
And  in  a  fair  white  wig  look'd  wondrous  fine. 

Fifty  long  miles  had  those  sad  rogues  to  travel, 
With  something  in  their  shoes  much  worse  than  gravel; 
In  short,  their  toes  so  gentle  to  amuse, 
The  priest  had  order'd  peas  into  their  shoes: 

A  nostrum,  famous  in  old  popish  times. 
For  purifying  souls  that  stunk  with  crimes; 

A   sort   of   apostolic   salt. 

Which  popish  parsons  for  its  powers  exalt. 


622  Narrative 

For  keeping  souls  of  sinners  sweet, 
Just  as  our  kitchen  salt  keeps  meat. 

The  knaves  set  off  on  the  same  day, 
Peas  in  their  shoes,  to  go  and  pray: 

But  very  different  was  their  speed,  I  wot: 
One  of  the  sinners  gallop'd  on, 
Swift  as  a  bullet  from  a  gun; 

The  other  limp'd,  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

One  saw  the  Virgin  soon — peccavi  cried — 
Had  his  soul  whitewash'd  all  so  clever; 

Then  home  again  he  nimbly  hied. 

Made  iit  with  saints  above  to  live  forever. 

In  coming  back,  however,  let  me  say, 

He  met  his  brother  rogue  about  half-way, 

Hobbling,  with  outstretch'd  arms  and  bended  knees. 

Damning  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  peas; 

His  eyes  in  tears,  his  cheeks  and  brow  in  sweat, 

Deep  sympathizing  with  his  groaning  feet. 

"  How  now,"  the  light-toed,  white-wash'd  pilgrim  broke, 

"You  lazy  lubber!" 
"Odds  curse  it!"  cried  the  other,  "'tis  no  joke; 
My  feet,  once  hard  as  any  rock. 

Are  now  as  soft  as  blubber. 

"Excuse  me.  Virgin  Mary,  that  I  swear: 
As  for  Loretto,  I  shall  not  go  there; 
No!  to  the  Devil  my  sinful  soul  must  go. 
For  damme  if  I  ha'n't  lost  every  toe. 
But,  brother  sinner,  pray  explain 
How  'tis  that  you  are  not  in  pain? 

What  power  hath  work'd  a  wonder  for  your  toes? 
Whilst  T,  just  like   a  snail,   am   crawling, 
Now  swearing,  now  on  saints  devoutly  bawling, 

Whilst  not  a  rascal  comes  to  ease  my  woes? 

• 
"  How  is't  that  you  can  like  a  greyhound  go, 

Merry  as  if  that  naught  had  happen'd,  burn  ye!" 
"Why,"  cried  the  other,  grinning,  "you  must  know. 


Tarn  O'Shanter  623 

That,  just  before  I  ventured  on   my  journey, 
To  walk  a  little  more  at  ease, 
I  took  the  liberty  to  boil  my  peas." 

John  Wolcot. 


TAM  O'SHANTER 

When  chapman  billies  leave  the  street, 
And  drouthy  neibors  neibors  meet, 
As  market  days  are  wearin'  late. 
And  folk  begin  to  tak  the  gate: 

While  we  sit  bousing  at  the  nappy, 
And  gettin'  fou  and  unco  happy. 
We  thinkna  on  the  lang  Scots  miles. 
The  mosses,  waters,  slaps,  and  stiles. 
That  lie  between  us  and  our  hame, 
Whare  sits  our  sulky  sullen  dame, 
Gathering  her  brows  like  gathering  storm. 
Nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm. 

This  truth  fand  honest  Tam   o'Shanter, 
As  he  frae  Ayr  ae  night  did  canter 
(Auld  Ayr,  wham  ne'er  a  town  surpasses 
For  honest  men  and  bonny   lasses). 

O  Tam!  hadst  thou  but  been  sae  wise 

As  ta'en  thy  ain  wife  Kate's  advice! 

She  tauld  thee  weel  thou  wast  a  skellum, 

A  blethering,  blustering,  drunken  blellum; 

That  frae  Nevember  till  October, 

Ae  market  day  thou  wasna  sober; 

That  ilka  melder,  wi'  the  miller 

Thou  sat  as  lang  as  thou  hadst  siller; 

That  every   naig   was   ca'd   a   shoe   on, 

The  smith  and  thee  gat  roaring  fou  on; 

That  at  the  Lord's  house,  even  on  Sunday, 

Thou  drank  wi'  Kirkton  Jean  till  Monday. 

She  prophesied,  that,  late  or  soon. 

Thou  wouldst  be  found  deep  drown'd  in  Doon! 


% 


624  Narrative 

Or  catch'd  wi'  warlocks  i'  the  mirk, 
By  Alloway's  auld  haunted  kirk. 

Ah,  gentle  dames!  it  gars  me  greet 
To  think  how  mony  counsels  sweet, 
How  mony  lengthen'd,  sage  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises! 

But  to  our  tale: — Ae  market  night, 
Tam  had  got  planted  unco  right. 
Fast  by  an   ingle,  bleezing  finely, 
Wi'  reaming  swats,  that  drank  divinely; 
And   at   his  elbow,    Souter   Johnny, 
His   ancient,   trusty,   drouthy   crony; 
Tam  lo'ed  him  like  a  very  brither — 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither! 
The  night  drave  on  wi'  sangs  and  clatter. 
And  aye  the  ale  was  growing  better: 
The  landlady  and  Tam  grew  gracious, 
Wi'  favours  secret,  sweet,  and  precious 
The  Souter  tauld  his  queerest  stories. 
The  landlord's  laugh  was  ready  chorus: 
The  storm  without  might  rair  and   rustle — 
Tam   didna  mind   the   storm    a   whistle. 

Care,  mad  to  see  a  man  sae  happy. 
E'en  drown'd  himsel'  amang  the  nappy! 
As  bees   flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure. 
The  minutes  wing'd  their  way  wi'  pleasure; 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  Tam  was  glorious. 
O'er  a'  the  ills  o'  life  victorious! 

But  pleasures  are  like  poppies  spread. 

You  seize  the  flower,  its  bloom  is  shed! 

Or  like  the  snowfall  in  the  river, 

A  moment  white — then  melts  for  ever; 

Or  like  the  borealis  race. 

That  flit  ere  you  can  point  their  place 

Or  like  the  rainbow's  lovely  form, 

Evanishing  amid  the  storm. 

Nae  man  can  tether  time  or  tide; 

The  hour  approaches  Tam  maun  ride; 


Tarn  O'Shanter  626 

That  hour,  o'  night's  black  arch  the  keystane, 
That  dreary  hour  he  mounts  his  beast  in; 
And  sic  a  night  he  taks  the  road  in 
As  ne'er  poor  sinner  was  abroad  in. 


The  wind  blew  as  'twad  blawn  its  last; 
The  rattling  showers  rose  on  the  blast; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallow'd; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang,  the  thunder  bellow'd: 
That  night,  a  child  might  understand 
The  deil  had  business  on  his  hand. 


Weel  mounted  on  his  grey  mare  Meg, 
A  better  never  lifted  leg, 
Tam  skelpit  on  through  dub  and  mire, 
Despising  wind,  and  rain,  and  fire; 
Whiles  holding  fast  his  guid  blue  bonnet, 
Whiles  crooning  o'er  some  auld  Scots  sonnet; 
Whiles  glowering  round  wi'  prudent  cares. 
Lest  bogles  catch  him  unawares: 
Kirk-Alloway  was  drawing  nigh, 
Whare  ghaists  and  houlets  nightly  cry. 
By  this  time  he  was  'cross  the  foord, 
Whare  in  the  snaw  the  chapman  smoor'd; 
And  past  the  birks  and  meikle  stane 
Whare  drunken  Charlie  brak's  neck-bane: 
And  through  the  whins,  and  by  the  cairn 
Whare  hunters  fand  the  murder'd  bairn; 
And  near  the  thorn,  aboon  the  well, 
Whare  Mungo's  mither  hang'd  hersel'. 
Before  him  Dooh  pours  a'  his  floods; 
The  doubling  storm  roars  through  the  woods; 
The  lightnings  flash  frae   pole  to  pole; 
Near  and  more  near  the  thunders  roll; 
When,  glimmering  through  the  groaning  trees, 
Kirk-Alloway  seem'd  in  a  bleeze; 
Through  ilka  bore  the  beams  were  glancing, 
And  loud  resounded  mirth  and  dancing. 


626  Narrative 

Inspiring  bold  John  Barleycorn! 
What  dangers  thou  canst  mak  us  scorn! 
Wi'  tippenny,  we  fear  nae  evil; 
Wi'  usquebae,  we'll  face  the  devil! — 
The  swats  sae  ream'd  in   Tammie's  noddle, 
Fair  play,  he  cared  na  deils  a  boddle. 
But  Maggie  stood  right  sair  astonish'd. 
Till,  by  the  heel  and  hand  admonish'd, 
She  ventured  forward  on  the  light; 
And,  wow!  Tam  saw  an  unco  sight! 
Warlocks  and  witches  in  a  dance; 
Nae  cotillon  brent-new  frae  France, 
But  hornpipes,  jigs,  strathspeys,   and  reels, 
.  Put  life  and  mettle  i'  their  heels: 
At  winnock-bunker,  i'  the  east. 
There  sat  auld  Nick,  in  shape  o'  beast; 
A  towzie  tyke,  black,  grim,  and  large, 
To  gie  them  music  was  his  charge; 
He  screwed  the  pipes,  and  gart  them  skirl. 
Till  roof  and  rafters  a'  did  dirl. 
Coffins  stood  round,  like  open  presses, 
That  shaw'd  the  dead  in  their  last  dresses; 
And  by  some  devilish  cantrip  slight 
Each  in  its  cauld  hand  held  a  light, — 
By  which  heroic  Tam  was  able 
To  note  upon  the  haly  table, 
A  murderer's  banes   in   gibbet   aims; 
Twa  span-lang,  wee,  unchristian  bairns; 
A  thief,  new-cutted  frae  a  rape, 
Wi'  his  last  gasp  his  gab  did  gape; 
Five  tomahawks,  wi'  bluid  red-rusted; 
Five  scimitars,  wi'  murder  crusted; 
A  garter,  which  a  babe  had  strangled; 
A  knife,  a  father's  throat  had  mangled, 
Whom  his  ain  son  o'  life  bereft. 
The  grey  hairs  yet  stack  to  the  heft: 
Wi'  mair  o'  horrible  and  awfu'. 
Which  even  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'. 

As  Tammie  glower'd,  amazed  and  curious 
The  mirth  and  fun  grew  fast  and  furious 


Tam  O'Shanter  627 

The  piper  loud  and  louder  blew, 

The  dancers  quick  and  quicker  flew; 

They  reel'd,  they  set,  they  cross'd,  they  cleekit. 

Till  ilka  carlin  swat  and  reekit. 

And  coost  her  duddies  to  the  wark. 

And  linket  at  it  in  her  sark. 

Now  Tam!  0  Tam!  had  thae  been  queans, 

A'  plump  and  strappin'  in  their  teens, 

Their  sarks,  instead  o'  creeshie  flannen, 

Been   snaw-white  seventeen-hunder  linen! 

Thir  breeks  o'  mine,  my  only  pair, 

That  ance  were  plush,  o'  guid  blue  hair, 

I  wad  hae  gien  them  aff  my  hurdies, 

For  ae  blink  o'  the  bonny  burdies! 


But  withered  beldams,  auld  and  droll, 
Rigwoodie  hags,  wad  spean  a  foal, 
Lowpin'  and  flingin*  on  a  cummock, 
I  wonder  didna  turn  thy  stomach. 


But  Tam  kenn'd  what  was  what  fu'  brawlie, 
"  There  was  ae  winsome  wench  and  walie," 
That  night  enlisted  in  the  core 
(Lang  after  kenn'd  on  Carrick  shore; 
For  mony  a  beast  to  dead  she  shot. 
And  perish'd  money  a  bonny  boat. 
And  shook  baith  meikle  com  and  bear. 
And  kept  the  country-side  in  fear). 
Her  cutty  sark,  o'  Paisley  harn, 
That,  while  a  lassie,  she  had  worn. 
In  longitude  though  sorely  scanty. 
It  was  her  best,  and  she  was  vauntie. 


Ah!  little  kenn'd  thy  reverend  grannie. 

That  sark  she  coft  for  her  wee  Nannie, 
Wi'  twa  pund  Scots  ('twas  a'  her  riches), 
Wad  ever  graced  a  dance  o'  witches! 


628  Narrative 

But  here  my  Muse  her  wing  maun  core. 

Sic  flights  are  far  beyond  her  power; 

To  sing  how  Nannie  lap  and  flang 

(A  soupJe  jade  she  was,  and  Strang), 

And  how  Tam  stood,  like  ane  bewitch'd, 

And   thought  his  very  een   enriched. 

Even  Satan  glower'd,  and  fidged  fu'  fain. 

And  hotch'd  and  blew  wi'  might  and  main; 

Till  first  ae  caper,  syne  anither, 

Tam  tint  his  reason  a'  thegither, 

And  roars  out,  "  Weel  done,  Cutty-sark!" 

And  in  an  instant  a'  was  dark: 

And  scarcely  had  he  Maggie  rallied, 

When   out  the  hellish  legion  sallied. 

As  bees  bizz  out  wi'  angry  fyke, 

When  plundering  herds  assail  their  byke, 

As  open  pussie's  mortal  foes, 

When,  pop!  she  starts  before  their  nose; 

As  eager  runs  the  market-crowd, 

When  "Catch  the  thief!"  resounds  aloud; 

So  Maggie  runs,  the  witches  follow, 

Wr  mony  an  eldritch  screech  and  hollow. 

Ah,  Tam !  ah,  Tam !  thou'lt  get  thy  f airin' ! 
In  hell  they'll  roast  thee  like  a  herrin' ! 
In  vain  thy  Kate  awaits  thy  comin'! 
Kate  soon  will  be  a  woefu'  woman! 
Now,  do  thy  speedy  utmost,  Meg, 
And  win  the  keystane  of  the  brig; 
There  at  them  thou  thy  tail  may  toss, 
A  running  stream  they  darena  cross; 
But  ere  the  keystane  she  could  make, 
The  fient  a  tail  she  had  to  shake! 
.    For  Nannie,  far  before  the  rest. 
Hard  upon  noble  Maggie  prest. 
And  flew  at  Tam  wi'  furious  ettle; 
But  little  wist  she  Maggie's  mettle — 
Ae  spring  brought  off  her  master  hale, 
But  left  behind  her  ain  grey  tail: 
The  carlin  caught  her  by  the  rump. 
And  left  poor  Maggie  scarce  a  stump. 


.  That  Gentle  Man   from  Boston  Town  629 

Now,  wha  this  tale  o'  truth  shall  read, 
Ilk  man  and  mother's  son,  take  heed: 
Whane'er  to  drink  you  are  inclined. 
Or  cutty-sarks  run  in  your  mind, 
Think!  ye  may  buy  the  joys  ower  dear — 
Remember  Tam  o'  Shanter's  mare. 

Robert  Burns. 


THAT  GENTLE  MAN  FROM  BOSTON  TOWN 

AN   IDYL    OF   OREGON 

Two  webfoot  brothers  loved  a  fair 
Young  lady,  rich  and  good  to  see; 

And  oh,  her  black  abundant  hair! 
And  oh,  her  wondrous  witchery! 

Her  father  kept  a  cattle  farm. 

These  brothers  kept  her  safe  from  harm: 

From  harm  of  cattle  on  the  hill; 

From  thick-necked  bulls  loud  bellowing 
The  livelong  morning,  loud  and  shrill, 

And  lashing  sides  like  anything; 
From  roaring  bulls  that  tossed  the  sand 
And  pawed  the  lilies  from  the  land. 

There  came  a  third  young  man.    He  came 
From  far  and  famous  Boston  town. 

He  was  not  handsoine,  was  not  "game," 
But  he  could  "cook  a  goose"  as  brown 

As  any  man  that  set  foot  on 

The  sunlit  shores  of  Oregon. 


This  Boston  man  he  taught  the  school, 
Taught  gentleness  and  love  alway, 

Said  love  and  kindness,  as  a  rule. 
Would  ultimately  "  make  it  pay." 

He  was  so  gentle,  kind,  that  he 

Could  make  a  noun  and  verb  agree. 


\ 


630  Narrative 

So  when  one  day  the  brothers  grew 
All  jealous  and  did  strip  to  fight, 

He  gently  stood  between  the  two, 

And  meekly  told  them  'twas  not  right. 

"I  have  a  higher,  better  plan," 

Outspake  this  gentle  Boston  man. 

"  My  plan  is  this :  Forget  this  fray 

About  that  lily  hand  of  hers ; 
Go  take  your  guns  and  hunt  all  day 

High  up  yon  lofty  hill  of  firs. 
And  while  you  hunt,  my  loving  doves. 
Why,  I  will  learn  which  one  she  loves." 

The  brothers  sat  the  windy  hill, 

Their  hair  shone  yellow,  like  spun  gold, 

Their  rifles  crossed  their  laps,  but  still 
They  sat  and  sighed  and  shook  with  cold. 

Their  hearts  lay  bleeding  far  below; 

Above  them  gleamed  white  peaks  of  snow. 

Their  hounds  lay  couching,  slim  and  neat; 

A  spotted  circle  in  the  grass. 
The  valley  lay  beneath  their  feet; 

They  heard  the  wide-winged  eagles  pass. 
The  eagles  cleft  the  clouds  above; 
Yet  what  could  they  but  sigh  and  loveY^ 

"  If  I  could  die,"  the  elder  sighed, 

"  My  dear  young  brother  here  might  wed." 

"  Oh,  would  to  Heaven  I  had  died !  " 
The  younger  sighed,  with  bended  head. 

Then  each  looked  each  full  in  the  face 

And  each  sprang  up  and  stood  in  place. 

"  If  I  could  die," — the  elder  spake, — 

"Die  by  your  hand,  the  world  would  say 

'Twas  accident; — and  for  her  sake, 
Dear  brother,  be  it  so,  I  pray." 

"Not  that!"  the  younger  nobly  said; 

Then  tossed  his  gun  and  turned  his  head. 


That  Gentle  Man  from  Boston  Town  631 

And  fifty  paces  back  he  paced! 

And  as  he  paced  he  drew  the  ball; 
Then  sudden  stopped  and  wheeled   and  faced 

His  brother  to  the  death  and  fall! 
Two  shots  rang  wild  upon  the  air! 
But  lo!  the  two  stood  harmless  there! 

An  eagle  poised  high  in  the  air; 

Far,  far  below  the  bellowing 
Of  bullocks  ceased,  and  everywhere 

Vast  silence  sat  all  questioning. 
The  spotted  hounds  ran  circling  round 
Their  red,  wet  noses  to  the  ground. 

And  now  each  brother  came  to  know 

That  each  had  drawn  the  deadly  ball; 
And  for  that  fair  girl  far  below 

Had  sought  in  vain  to  silent  fall. 
And  then  the  two  did  gladly  "  shake," 
And  thus  the  elder  bravely  spake: 

"Now  let  us  run  right  hastily 

And  tell  the  kind  schoolmaster  all! 
Yea!  yea!  and  if  she  choose  not  me, 

But  all  on  you  her  favors  fall, 
This  valiant  scene,  till  all  life  ends. 
Dear  brother,  binds  us  best  of  friends." 

The  hounds  sped  down,  a  spotted  line. 

The  bulls  in  tall,  abundant  grass. 
Shook  back  their  horns  from  bloom  and  vine, 

And  trumpeted  to  see  them  pass — 
They  loved  so  good,  they  loved  so  true, 
These  brothers  scarce  knew  what  to  do. 

They  sought  the  kind  schoolmaster  out 
As  swift  as  sweeps  the  light  of  mom; 

They  could  but  love,  they  could  not  doubt 
This  man  so  gentle,  "  in  a  horn," 

They  cried,  "  Now  whose  the  lily  hand — 

That  lady's  of  this  webfoot  land?" 


632  Narrative 

They  bowed  before  that  big-nosed  man, 
That  long-nosed  man  from  Boston  town; 

They  talked  as  only  lovers  can, 

They  talked,  but  he  could  only  frown; 

And  still  they  talked,  and  still  they  plead; 

It  was  as  pleading  with  the  dead. 


At  last  this  Boston  man  did  speak — 
"  Her  father  has  a  thousand  ceows, 

An  hundred  bulls,  all  fat  and  sleek; 
He  also  had  this  ample  heouse." 

The  brothers'  eyes  stuck  out  thereat, 

So  far  you  might  have  hung  your  hat. 

"  I  liked  the  looks  of  this  big  heouse — 

My  lovely  boys,  won't  you  come  in? 
Her  father  has  a  thousand  ceows, 

He  also  had   a  heap  of  tin. 
The  guirl?     Oh  yes,  the  guirl,  you  see — 
The  guirl,  just  neow  she  married  me." 

Joaquin  Miller. 


THE  YARN  OF  THE  '^ NANCY  BELL" 

'TwAS  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast 

From  Deal  to  Ramsgate  span. 
That  I  found  alone  on  a  piece  of  stone 

An  elderly  naval  man. 


His  hair  was  weedy,  his  beard  was  long. 

And  weedy  and  long  was  he, 
And  I  heard  this  wight  on  the  shore  recite. 

In  a  singular  minor  key: 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  cook  and  the  captain  bold. 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig. 

And   a  bo'sun   tight,   and   a  midshipmite. 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 


The  Yarn  of  the  "  Nancy  Bell  "  633 

And  he  shook  his  fists  and  he  tore  his  hair, 

Till  I  really  felt  afraid, 
For  I  couldn't  help  thinking  the  man   had  been  drinking, 

And  so  I  simply  said: 

"  Oh,  elderly  man,  it's  little  I  know 

Of  the  duties  of  men  of  the  sea, 
And  I'll  eat  my  hand  if  I  understand 

How  you  can  possibly  be 

"  At  once  a  cook,  and  a  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  a  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite. 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 

Then  he  gave  a  hitch  to  his  trousers,  which 

Is  a  trick  all  seamen  larn, 
And  having  got  rid  of  a  thumping  quid. 

He  spun  this  painful  yarn: 

"  'Twas  in  the  good  ship  Nancy  Bell 

That  we  sailed   to  the  Indian   Sea, 
And  there  on  a  reef  we  come  to  grief, 

Which  has  often  occurred  to  me. 

"  And  pretty  nigh  all  the  crew  was  drowned 

(There  was  seventy-seven  o'  soul), 
And  only  ten  of  the  Nancy's  men 

Said  *here'  to  the  muster-roll. 


"  There  was  me  and  the  cook  and  the  captain  bold, 

And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 
And  the  bo'sun  tight,  and  a  midshipmite. 

And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"  For  a  month  we'd  neither  wittles  nor  drink. 

Till  a-hungry  we  did  feel, 
So  we  drawed  a  lot,  and  accordin'  shot 

The  captain  for  our  meal. 


634  Narrative 

"  The  next  lot  fell  to  the  Nancy's  mate, 

And  a  delicate  dish  he  made; 
Then  our  appetite  with  the  midshipmite 

We  seven   survivors  stayed. 

"  And  then  we  murdered  the  bos'un  tight, 

And  he  much  resembled  pig; 
Then  we  wittled  free,  did  the  cook  and  me. 

On  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

"  Then  only  the  cook  and  me  was  left, 

And  the  delicate  question,  '  Which 
Of  us  two  goes  to  the  kettle?'  arose. 

And  we  argued  it  out  as  sich. 

*'  For  T  loved  that  cook  as  a  brother,  I  did. 

And  the  cook  he  worshipped   me; 
But  we'd  both  be  blowed  if  we'd  either  be  stowed 

In  the  other  chap's  hold,  you  see. 

" '  I'll  be  eat  if  you  dines  off  me,'  says  Tom. 

*  Yes,  that,'  says  I,  *  you'll  be, — 
I'm  boiled  if  I  die,  my  friend,'  quoth  I. 

And  'Exactly  so,'  quoth  he. 

"  Says  he,  '  Dear  James,  to  murder  me 

Were  a  foolish  thing  to  do. 
For  don't  you  see  that  you   can't  cook   me. 

While  I  can — and  will — cook  you!\ 

"  So  he  boils  the  water,  and  takes  the  salt 

And  the  pepper  in  portions  true 
(Which  he  never  forgot),  and  some  chopped  shalot. 

And  some  sage  and  parsley  too. 

"'Come  here,'  says  he,  with  a  proper  pride, 

Which  his  smiling  features  tell, 
* 'Twill  soothing  be  if  T  let  you  see 

How  extremely  nice  you'll  smell.' 


p 


Ferdlnando  and  Elvira  635 


"  And  he  stirred  it  round  and  round  and  round, 
And  he  sniffed  at  the  foaming  froth; 

When  I  ups  with  his  heels,  and  smothers  his  squeals 
In  the  scum  of  the  boiling  broth. 

"  And  I  eat  that  cook  in  a  week  or  less. 

And — as  I  eating  be 
The  last  of  his  chops,  why,  I  almost  drops. 

For  a  vessel  in  sight  I  see. 

*'  And  I  never  larf,  and  I  never  smile. 

And  I  never  lark  or  play. 
But  sit  and  croak,  and  a  single  joke 

I  have, — which  is  to  say: 


"  Oh,  I  am  a  cook  and  a  captain  bold. 
And  the  mate  of  the  Nancy  brig, 

And  a  bos'un  tight,  and  a  midshipmite. 
And  the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig." 


W.  S.  Gilbert. 


FERDINANDO  AND  ELVIRA 

OR,    THE    GENTLE    PIEMAN 
PART    I 

At  a  pleasant  evening  party  I  had  taken  down  to  supper 
One  whom   I  will   call   Elvira,   and  we  talked   of  love  and 
Tupper. 

"Mr.  Tupper  and  the  Poets,  very  lightly  with  them  dealing, 
For    I've    always    been    distinguished    for    a    strong    poetic 
feeling. 

Then  we  let  off  paper  crackers,  each  of  which  contained  a 

motto, 
And   she  listened   while  I  read   them,   till  her  mother  told 

her  not  to. 


636  Narrative 

Then  she  whispered,  "  To  the  ballroom  we  had  better,  dear, 

be  walking; 
If  we  stop  down  here  much  longer,   really  people  will  be 

talking." 

There  were  noblemen  in  coronets,  and  military  cousins, 
There  were  captains  by  the  hundred,  there  were  baronets  by^ 
dozens. 

Yet  she  heeded  not  their  offers,  but  dismissed  them  with  a 
blessing; 
.    Then  she  let  down  all  her  back  hair,  which  had  taken  long 
in  dressing. 

Then  she  had  convulsive  sobbings  in  her  agitated  throttle, 
Then  she  wiped  her  pretty  eyes  and  smelt  her  pretty  smell- 
ing bottle. 

So  I  whispered,  "Dear  Elvira,  say, — what  can  the  matter 

be  with  you? 
Does   anything  you've  eaten,   darling  Popsy,  disagree  with 

you?" 

But  spite  of  all  I  said,  her  sobs  grew  more  and  more  dis- 
tressing, 

And  she  tore  her  pretty  back  hair,  which  had  taken  long 
in  dressing. 

Then  she  gazed  upon  the  carpet,  at  the  ceiling,  then  above 

me, 
And  she  whispered,  "Ferdinando,  do  you  really,  really  love 

me?" 


"Love  you?"  said  T,  then  T  sighed,  and  then  I  gazed  upo: 

her  sweetly — 
For  T  think  I  do  this  sort  of  thing  particularly  neatly 


"  Send  me  to  the  Arctic  regions,  or  illimitable  azure. 

On  a  scientific  goose-chase,  with  my  Coxwell  or  my  Glaisher! 


1 


Ferdinandb  and  Elvira  637 

**  Tell  me  whither  I  may  hie  me — tell  me,  dear  one,  that  I 

may  know — 
Is  it  up  the  highest  Andes  ?  down  a  horrible  volcano  ? " 

But  she  said,  "  It  isn't  polar  bears,  or  hot  volcanic  grottoes ; 
Only  find   out  who   it  is  that  writes  those   lovely  cracker 
mottoes ! " 

PART  II 

"  Tell  me,  Henry  Wadsworth,  Alfred,  Poet  Close,  or  Mister 
Tupper, 

Do  you  write  the  bon-ton  mottoes  my  Elvira  pulls  at  sup- 
per?" 

But  Henry   Wadsworth   smiled,   and   said  he  had  not   had 
I  that  honor; 

And  Alfred,  too,  disclaimed  the  words  that  told  so  much 
upon  her. 

I    "Mister  Martin  Tupper,  Poet  Close,  I  beg  of  you  inform 
I  us;" 

But  my  question  seemed  to  throw  them  both  into  a  rage 
enormous. 

Mister  Close  expressed  a  wish  that  he  could  only  get  anigh 

to  me; 
And  Mister  Martin  Tupper  sent  the  following  reply  to  me: 

"A  fool  is  bent  upon  a  twig,  but  wise  men  dread  a  ban- 
dit,"— 
Which  I  know  was  very  clever;  but  I  didn't  understand  it. 

Seven    weary   years   I   wandered — Patagonia,    China,    Nor- 
way, 
Till  at  last  I  sank  exhausted  at  a  pastrycook  his  doorway. 

There  were  fuchsias  and  geraniums,  and  daffodils  and  myr- 
tle; 
So  T  entered,  and  I  ordered  half  a  basin  of  mock  turtle. 


638  Narrative 

He  was  plump  and  he  was  chubby,  he  was  smooth  and  he 

was  rosy, 
And  his  little  wife  was  pretty  and  particularly  cosy. 

And  he  chirped  and  sang,  and  skipped  about,  and  laughed 

with  laughter  hearty — 
He  was  wonderfully  active  for  so  very  stout  a  party. 

And  I  said,  "  O  gentle  pieman,  why  so  very,  very  merry  ? 
Is  it  purity  of  conscience,  or  your  one-and-seven  sherry  ? " 

But  he  answered,  "  I'm  so  happy — no  profession  could  be 

dearer — 
If  I  am  not  humming  *  Tra  la  la '  I'm  singing  *  Tirer,  lirer ! ' 

*'  First  I  go  and  make  the  patties,  and  the  puddings,  and 

the  jellies, 
Then  I  make  a  sugar  bird-cage,  which  upon  a  table  swell  is: 

"  Then  I  polish  all  the  silver,  which  a  supper-table  lacquers : 
Then  I  write  the  pretty  mottoes  which  you  find  inside  the 
crackers — " 

"  Found  at  last !  "  I  madly  shouted.     "  Gentle  pieman,  you 

astound  me ! " 
Then  I  waved  the  turtle  soup  enthusiastically  round  me. 

And  I  shouted  and  I  danced  until  he'd  quite  a  crowd  around 

him. 
And  I  rushed  away,  exclaiming,   "  I  have  found   him !     I 

have  found  him !  " 

And  I  heard  the  gentle  pieman  in  the  road  behind  me  trill- 
ing, 

"  '  Tira !  lira ! '  stop  him,  stop  him !  '  Tra !  la !  la ! '  the  soup's 
a  shilling  I  " 

But  until  I  reached  Elvira's  home,  I  never,  never  waited, 
And  Elvira  to  her  Ferdinand's  irrevocably  mated! 
»  '  W.  S,  Gilbert. 


Gentle  Alice  Brown  639 


GENTLE  ALICE  BROWN 

It  was  a  robber's  daughter,  and  her  name  was  Alice  Brown, 
Her  father  was  the  terror  of  a  small  Italian  town; 
Her  mother  was  a  foolish,  weak,  but  amiable  old  thing; 
;But  it  isn't  of  her  parents  that  I'm  going  for  to  sing. 

As  Alice  was  a-sitting  at  her  window-sill  one  day, 

A  beautiful  young  gentleman  he  chanced  to  pass  that  way; 

She  cast  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  he  looked  so  good  and 

true, 
That  she  thought,  "  I  could  be  happy  with  a  gentleman  like 

you!" 

And  every  morning  passed  her  house  that  cream  of  gentle- 
men, 
She  knew  she  might  expect  him  at  a  quarter  unto  ten, 
A  sorter  in  the  Custom-house,  it  was  his  daily  road 
(The   Custom-house   was   fifteen   minutes'    walk   from   her 
abode.) 

But  Alice  was  a  pious  girl,  who  knew  it  wasn't  wise 

To  look  at  strange  young  sorters  with  expressive  purple 
eyes; 

So  she  sought  the  village  priest  to  whom  her  family  con- 
fessed, 

The  priest  by  whom  their  little  sins  were  carefully  assessed. 

"Oh,  holy  father,"  Alice  said,  "'twould  grieve  you,  would 

it  not? 
To  discover  that  I  was  a  most  disreputable  lot! 
Of  all  unhappy  sinners  I'm  the  most  unhappy  one ! " 
The  padre  said,  "  Whatever  have  you  been  and  gone  and 

done?" 

"  I  hare  helped  mamma  to  steal  a  little  kiddy  from  its  dad, 
I've  assisted  dear  papa  in  cutting  up  a  little  lad. 
I've  planned  a  little  burglary  and  forged  a  little  cheque, 
^ And  slain  a  little  baby  for  the  coral  on  its  neck  I " 


640  Narrative 

The  worthy  pastor  heaved  a  sigh,  and  dropped  a  silent  tear — 
And   said,   "  You   mustn't  judge  yourself   too   heavily,   my 

dear — 
It's  wrong  to  murder  babies,  little  corals  for  to  fleece; 
But  sins  like  these  one  expiates  at  half-a-crown  apiece. 

"Girls  will  be  girls — you're  very  young,  and  flighty  in  your 

mind; 

Old  heads  upon  young  shoulders  we  must  not  expect  to  find: 
We  mustn't  be  too  hard  upon  these  little  girlish  tricks — 
Let's  see — five  crimes  at  half-a-crown — exactly  twelve-and- 

six." 

"  Oh,  father,"  little  Alice  cried,  "  your  kindness  makes  me 

weep. 
You  do  these  little  things  for  me  so  singularly  cheap — 
Your  thoughtful  liberality  I  never  can  forget; 
But  oh,  there  is  another  crime  I  haven't  mentioned  yet! 

"  A  pleasant-looking  gentleman,  with  pretty  purple  eyes, 
I've  noticed  at  my  window,  as  I've  sat  a-catching  flies; 
He  passes  by  it  every  day  as  certain  as  can  be — 
I  blush  to  say  I've  winked  at  him  and  he  has  winked  at 
me!" 

"  For  shame,"  said  Father  Paul,  "  my  erring  daughter !    On 

my  word 
This  is  the  most  distressing  news  that  I  have  ever  heard. 
Why,  naughty  girl,  your  excellent  papa  has  pledged  your 

hand 
To  a  promising  young  robber,  the  lieutenant  of  his  band ! 

"  This  dreadful  piece  of  news  will  pain  your  worthy  par- 
ents so! 

They  are  the  most  remunerative  customers  I  know; 

For  many  many  years  they've  kept  starvation  from  my 
doors, 

I  never  knew  so  criminal  a  family  as  yours! 

"  The  common  country  folk  in  this  insipid  neighborhood 
Have  nothing  to  confess,  they're  so  ridiculously  good; 
And  if  you  marry  any  one  respectable  at  all. 
Why,  you'll  reform,  and  what  will  then  become  of  Father 
Paul?'» 


The  Story  of  Prince  Agib  64-1 

The   worthy   priest,   he    up    and    drew    his    cowl    upon    his 

crown, 
And  started  off  in  haste  to  tell  the  news  to  Robber  Brown; 
To  tell  him  how  his  daughter,  who  was  now  for  marriage 

fit, 
Had  winked  upon  a  sorter,  who  reciprocated  it. 

Good  Robber  Brown,  he  muffled  up  his  anger  pretty  well, 
He  said,  "  I  have  a  notion,,  and  that  notion  I  will  tell ; 
I  will  nab  this  gay  young  sorter,  terrify  him  into  fits, 
And  get  my  gentle  wife  to  chop  him  into  little  bits. 

'Tve  studied  human  nature,  and  I  know  a  thing  or  two, 
Though  a  girl  may  fondly  love  a  living  gent,  as  many  do — 
A  feeling  of  disgust  upon  her  senses  there  will  fall 
When  she  looks  upon  his  body  chopped  particularly  small." 

He  traced  that  gallant  sorter  to  a  still  suburban  square; 
He  watched  his  opportunity  and  seized  him  unaware; 
He  took  a  life-preserver  and  he  hit  him  on  the  head. 
And  Mrs.  Brown  dissected  him  before  she  went  to  bed. 

And  pretty  little  Alice  grew  more  settled  in  her  mind, 
She  nevermore  was  guilty  of  a  weakness  of  the  kind. 
Until  at  length  good  Robber  Brown  bestowed  her  pretty  hand 
On  the  promising  young  robber,  the  lieutenant  of  his  band. 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 


THE  STORY  OF  PRINCE  AGIB 

Strike  the  concertina's  melancholy  string! 

Blow  the  spirit-stirring  harp  like  anything! 
Let  the  piano's  martial  blast 
Rouse  the  Echoes  of  the  Past, 

Eor  of  Agib,  Prince  of  Tartary,  I  sing!. 

Of  Agib,  who,  amid  Tartaric  scenes, 
Wrote  a  lot  of  ballet  music  in  his  teens: 

His  gentle  spirit  rolls 

In  the  melody  of  souls — 
Which  is  pretty,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  means. 


642  Narrative 

Of  Agib,  who  could  readily,  at  sight, 
Strum  a  march  upon  the  loud  Theodolite. 

He  would  diligently  play 

On   the  Zoetrope  all   day, 
And  blow  the  gay  Pantechnicon  all  night. 

One  winter — I  am  shaky  in  my  dates — 

Came  two  starving  Tartar  minstrels  to  his  gates; 

Oh,  Allah  be  obeyed,. 

How  infernally  they  played! 
I  remember  that  they  called  themselves  the  "  Oiiaits." 

Oh!  that  day  of  sorrow,  misery,  and  rage 
I  shall  carry  to  the  Catacombs  of  Age, 

Photographically  lined 

On  the  tablet  of  my  mind. 
When  a  yesterday  has  faded  from  its  page! 

Alas!  Prince  Agib  went  and  asked  them  in; 

Gave  them  beer,  and  eggs,  and  sweets,  and  scent,  and  tin. 

And  when  (as  snobs  would  say) 

They  had  "put  it  all  away," 
He  requested  them  to  tune  up  and  begin. 

Though  its  icy  horror  chill  you  to  the  core, 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  never  told  before, — 

The  consequences  true  , 

Of  that  awful   interview, 
For  I  listened  at  the  heyhole  in  the  door! 

They  played  him  a  sonata — let  me  see! 
"Medulla  oblongata" — key  of  G. 

Then  they  began  to  sing 

That  extremely  lovely  thing, 
*'  Scherzando!  ma  non  troppo,  ppp/* 

He  gave  them  money,  more  than  they  could  count, 
Scent  from  a  most  ingenious  little  fount, 

More  beer,  in  little  kegs. 

Many  dozen   hard-boiled  eggs. 
And  goodies  to  a  fabulous  amount. 


The  Story  of  Prince  Agib  643 

Now  follows  the  dim  horror  of  my  tale 
And  I  feel  I'm  growing  gradually  pale, 

For,  even  at  this  day, 

Though  its  sting  has  passed  away. 
When  I  venture  to  remember  it,  T  quail! 

The  elder  of  the  brothers  gave  a  squeal, 
All-overish  it  made  me  for  to  feel; 

"  Oh,  Prince,"  he  says,   says  he, 

"If   a   Prince   indeed   you   he, 
I've  a  mystery  I'm  going  to  reveal! 

"  Oh,  listen,  if  you'd  shun  a  horrid  death, 
To  what  the  gent  who's  speaking  to  you  saith: 

No  *  Oiiaits '  in  truth  are  we, 

As  you  fancy  that  we  be; 
For  (ter-remble!)  I  am  Aleck — this  is  Beth!" 

Said  Agib,  "  Oh !  accursed  of  your  kind, 

I  have  heard  that  ye  are  men  of  evil  mind ! " 

Beth  gave   a  fearful   shriek — 

But  before  he'd  time  to-  speak 
I  was  mercilessly  collared  from  behind. 

In  number  ten  or  twelve,  or  even  more. 
They  fastened  me  full  length  upon  the  floor. 

On  my  face  extended  flat, 

I  was  walloped  with  a  cat 
For  listening  at  the  keyhole  of  a  door. 

Oh!  the  horror  of  that  agonizing  thrill! 

(I  can  feel  the  place  in  frosty  weather  still). 

For  a  week  from  ten  to  four 

I  was  fastened  to  the  floor. 
While  a  mercenary  wopped  me  with  a  will. 

They  branded  me  and  broke  me  on  a  wheel, 
And  they  left  me  in  an  hospital  to  heal; 

And,  upon    my   solemn   word, 

I  have  never  never  heard 
What  those   Tartars   had   determined   to   reveal. 


644  Narrative 

But  that  day  of  sorrow,  misery,  and  rage, 
1  shall  carry  to  the  Catacombs  of  Age, 

Photographically  lined 

On   the  tablet  of  my  mind. 
When  a  yesterday  has  faded  from  its  page. 

IV.  S.  Gilbert 


SIR  GUY  THE  CRUSADER 

Sir  Guy  was  a  doughty  crusader, 

A  muscular  knight. 

Ever  ready  to  fight, 
A  very  determined  invader. 
And  Dickey  de  Lion's  delight. 

Lenore  was  a  Saracen  maiden, 
Brunette,  statuesque. 
The  reverse  of  grotesque; 

Her  pa  was  a  bagman  from  Aden, 
Her  mother  she  played  ii?  burlesque. 

A  coryphee,  pretty  and  loyal. 

In  amber  and  red, 

The  ballet  she  led; 
Her  mother  performed  at  the  Royal, 
Lenore  at  the  Saracen's  Head. 

Of  face  and  of  figure  majestic, 
She  dazzled  the  cits — 
Ecstaticised  pits; — 
Her  troubles  were  only  domestic, 
But  drove  her  half  out  of  her  wits. 

Her  father  incessantly  lashed  her. 
On  water  and  bread 
She  was  grudgingly  fed; 

Whenever  her  father  he  thrashed  her, 
Her  mother  sat  down  on  her  head. 


Sir  Guy  the  Crusader  645 

Guy  saw  her,  and  loved  her,  with  reason, 

For  beauty  so  bright 

Sent  him  mad  with  delight; 
He  purchased  a  stall  for  the  season 
And  sat  in  it  every  night. 

His  views  were  exceedingly  proper. 

He  wanted  to  wed. 

So  he  called  at  her  shed 
And  saw  her  progenitor  whop  her — 
Her  mother  sit  down  on  her  head. 

"So  pretty,"  said  he,  "and  so  trusting! 

You  brute  of  a  dad. 

You  unprincipled  cad, 
Your  conduct  is  really  disgusting, 
Come,  come,  now  admit  it's  too  bad! 

"  You're  a  turbaned  old  Turk,  and  malignant — 

Your  daughter  Lenore 

I  intensely  adore, 
And  I  cannot  help  feeling  indignant, 
A  fact  that  I  hinted  before; 

To  see  a  fond  father  employing 

A  deuce  of  a  knout 

For  to  bang  her  about. 
To  a  sensitive  lover's  annoying." 

Said  the  bagman,  "  Crusader,  get  out." 

Says  Guy,  "  Shall  a  warrior  laden 
With  a  big  spiky  knob 
Sit  in  peace  on  his  cob, 
While  a  beautiful  Saracen  maiden 
Is  whipped  by  a  Saracen  snob? 

"  To  London  I'll  go  from  my  charmer." 
Which  he  did,  with  his  loot 
(Seven  hats  and  a  flute), 
And  was  nabbed  for  his  Sydenham  armour 
At  Mr.  Ben-Samuel's  suit. 


646  Narrative 

Sir  Guy  he  was  lodged  in  the  Compter; 
Her  pa,  in  a  rage, 
Died  (don't  know  his  age)  ; 
His  daughter  she  married  the  prompter, 
Grew  bulky  and  quitted  the  stage. 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 


KITTY  WANTS  TO  WRITE 

Kitty  wants  to  write!    Kitty  intellectual! 

What  has  been  effectual  to  turn  her  stockings  blue? 
Kitty's  seventh  season  has  brought  sufficient  reason, 

She  has  done  'most  everything  that  there  is  left  to  do! 

Half  of  them  to  laugh  about  and  half  of  them  to  rue, — 
Now  we  wait  in  terror  for  Kitty's  wildest  error. 

What  has  she  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew ! 

Kitty  wants  to  write!    Debutante  was  Kitty, 

Frivolous  and  witty  as  ever  bud  that  blew. 
Kitty  lacked  sobriety,  yet  she  ran  society, 

A  leader  whom  the  chaperons  indulged  a  year  or  two; 

Corner-men,  eligibles,  dancing-dolls  she  knew, — 
Kitty  then  was  slighted,  ne'er  again  invited; 

What  has  she  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew! 

Kitty  wants  to  write!    At  the  Social  Settlement 

Girls  of  Kitty's  mettle  meant  a  mission  for  a  few; 
Men  to  teach  the  classes,  men  to  mould  the  masses, 

Men  to  follow  Kitty  to  adventures  strange  and  new. 

Some  of  her  benevolence  was  hidden  out  of  view! — 
A  patroness  offended,  Kitty's  slumming  ended. 

What  is  there  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew! 

Kitty  wants  to  write!     Kitty  was  a  mystic, 

Deep  from  cabalistic  lore  many  hints  she  drew! 
Freaks  of  all  description,  Hindoo  and  Egyptian, 

Prattled  in  her  parlor — such  a  wild  and  hairy  crew! 

Many  came  for  money,  and  one  or  two  to  woo — 
Kitty's  pet  astrologer  wanted  to  acknowledge  her! 

What  has  she  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew! 


Dighton  Is  Engaged  647 

Kitty  wants  to  write!     Kitty  was  a  doctor; 

Nothing  ever  shocked  her,  though  they  hazed  a  little,  too! 
Kitty  learned  of  medicos  how  a  heart  unsteady  goes. 

Besides  a  score  of  secrets  that  are  secrets  still  to  you. 

Kitty's  course  in  medicine  gave  her  many  a  clue — 
Much  of  modern  history  now  is  less  a  mystery. 

What  has  she  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew ! 

Kitty  wants  to  write !    Everybody's  writing ! 

Won't  it  be  exciting,  the  panic  to  ensue? 
We  who  all  have  known  her,  think  what  we  have  shown  her! 

Read  it  in  the  magazines!     Which  half  of  this  is  true? 

Where  did  she  get  that  idea?    Is  it  him,  or  who? — 
Kitty's  wretched  enemies  now  will  learn  what  venom  is! 

What  has  she  to  write  about?    Wheeeeeeeeew! 

Gelett  Burgess. 


DIGHTON  IS  ENGAGED! 

Dighton  is  engaged!    Think  of  it  and  tremble! 
Two-and-twenty  ladies  who  have  known  him  must  dissemble; 
Two-and-twenty  Jadies  in  a  panic  must  repeat, 
"Dighton  is  a  gentleman;  will  Dighton  be  discreet?" 
All  the  merry  maidens  who  have  known  him  at  his  best 
Wonder  what  the  girl  is  like,  and  if  he  has  confessed. 

Dighton  the  philanderer,  will  he  prove  a  slanderer? 
A  man  gets  confidential  ere  the  honeymoon  has  sped — 

Dighton  was  a  rover  then,  Dighton  lived  in  clover  then; 
Dighton  is  a  gentleman — but  Dighton  is  to  wed! 

Dighton  is  engaged!     Think  of  it,  Corinna! 
Watch  and  see  his  fiancee  smile  on  you  at  dinner! 
Watch  and  hear  his  fiancee  whisper,  "That's  the  one?" 
Try  and  raise  a  blush  for  what  you  said  was  "  only  fun." 
Long  have  you  been  wedded;  have  you  then  forgot? 
If  you  have,  I'll  venture  that  a  certain  mian  has  not! 

Dighton  had  a  way  with  him;  did  you  ever  play  with  him? 
Now  that  dream  is  over  and  the  episode  is  dead. 

Dighton  never  harried  you  after  Charlie  married  you; 
Dighton  is  a  gentleman — but  Dighton  is  to  wed  I 


648  Narrative 

Dighton  is  engaged!    Think  of  it,  Bettina! 

Did  you  ever  love  him  when  the  sport  was  rather  keener? 

Did  you  ever  kiss  him  as  you  sat  upon  the  stairs? 

Did  you  ever  tell  him  of  your  former  love  affairs? 

Think  of  it  uneasily  and  wonder  if  his  wife 

Soon  will  know  the  amatory  secrets  of  your  life! 

Dighton  was  impressible,  you  were  quite  accessible — 
The  bachelor  who  marries  late  is  apt  to  lose  his  head. 

Dighton  wouldn't  hurt  you;  does  it  disconcert  you? 
Dighton  is  a  gentleman — but  Dighton  is  to  wed! 

Dighton  is  engaged!    Tremble,  Mrs.  Alice! 
When  he  comes  no  longer  will  you  bear  the  lady  malice? 
Now  he  comes  to  dinner,  and  he  smokes  cigars  with  Clint, 
But  he  never  makes  a  blunder  and  he  never  drops  a  hint; 
He's  a  universal  uncle,  with  a  welcome  everywhere, 
He  adopts  his  sweetheart's  children  and  he  lets  'em  pull  his 
hair. 
Dighton  has  a  memory  bright  and  sharp  as  emery, 
He  could  tell  them  fairy  stories  that  would  make  you  rather 
red! 
Dighton    can   be   trusted,   though;   Dighton's   readjusted, 
though ! 
Dighton  is  a  gentleman — but  Dighton  is  to  wed! 

Gelett  Burgess. 


PLAIN  LANGUAGE  FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES 

TABLE  MOUNTAIN,  1870 

.Which  I  wish  to  remark — 

And  my  language  is  plain — 
That  for  ways  that  are  dark. 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain. 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar. 

Which  the  same  I  would  rise  to  explain. 


Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James         649 

Ah  Sin  was  his  name; 

And  I  will  not  deny 
In  regard  to  the  same 

What  that  name  might  imply; 
But  his  smile  it  was  pensive  and  childlike, 

As  I  frequent  remarked  to  Bill  Nye. 

It  was  August  the  third; 

And  quite  soft  was  the  skies: 
Which  it  might  be  inferred 

That  Ah  Sin  was  likewise; 
Yet  he  played  it  that  day  upon  William 

And  me  in  a  way  I  despise. 

Which  we  had  a  small  game. 

And  Ah  Sin  took  a  hand. 
It  was  Euchre.    The  same 

He  did  not  understand ; 
But  he  smiled  as  he  sat  by  the  table. 

With'  a  smile  that  was  childlike  and  bland. 

Yet  the  cards  they  were  stocked 

In  a  way  that  I  grieve, 
And  my  feelings  were  shocked 

At  the  state  of  Nye's  sleeve: 
Which  was  stuffed  full  of  aces  and  bowers, 

And  the  same  with  intent  to  deceive. 

But  the  hands  that  were  played 

By  that  heathen  Chinee, 
And  the  points  that  he  made. 

Were  quite  frightful  to  see — 
Till  at  last  he  put  down  a  right  bower, 

Which  the  same  Nye  had  dealt  unto  me. 

Then  I  looked  up  at  Nye, 

And  he  gazed  upon  me; 
And  he  rose  with  a  sigh, 

And  said,  "  Can  this  be? 
We  are  ruined  by  Chinese  cheap  labour — " 

And  he  went  for  that  heathen  Chinee. 


650  Narrative 

In  the  scene  that  ensued 

I  did  not  take  a  hand; 
But  the  floor  it  was  strewed 

Like  the  leaves  on  the  strand 
With  the  cards  that  Ah  Sin  had  been  hiding, 

In  the  game  "  he  did  not  understand." 

In  his  sleeves,  which  were  long, 

He  had  twenty-four  packs — 
Which  was  coming  it  strong, 

Yet  I  state  but  the  facts; 
And  we  found  on  his  nails,  which  were  taper. 

What  is  frequent  in  tapers — that's  wax. 

Which  is  why  I  remark, 

And  my  language  is  plain. 
That  for  ways  that  are-  dark, 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain. 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar — 

Which  the  same  I  am  free  to  maintain. 

Bret  Harte. 


THE  SOCIETY  UPON  THE  STANISLAUS 

I  RESIDE  at  Table  Mountain,  and  my  name  is  Truthful  James ; 
I  am  not  up  to  small  deceit,  or  any  sinful  games; 
And  I'll  tell  in  simple  language  what  I  know  about  the  row 
That  broke  up  our  society  upon  the  Stanislow. 


But  first  I  would  remark,  that  it  is  not  a  proper  plan 

For  any  scientific  man  to  whale  his  fellow-man. 

And,  if  a  member  don't  agree  with  his  peculiar  whim, 

To  lay  for  that  same  member  for  to  "  put  a  head  "  on  him. 

Now,  nothing  could  be  finer  or  more  beautiful  to  see 
Than  the  first  six  months'  proceedings  of  that  same  society. 
Till  Brown  of  Calaveras  brought  a  lot  of  fossil  bones 
That  he  found  within  a  tunnel  near  the  tenement  of  Jones. 


The  Society  upon  the  Stanislaus  651 

Then  Brown  he  read  a  paper,  and  he  reconstructed  there, 
From  those  same  bones,  an  animal  that  was  extremely  rare; 
And  Jones  then  asked  the  Chair  for  a  suspension  of  the 

rules, 
Till  he  could  prove  that  those  same  bones  was  one  of  his  lost 

mules. 

Then  Brown  he  smiled  a  bitter  smile  and  said  he  was  at 

fault. 
It  seemed  he  had  been  trespassing  on  Jones's  family  vault; 
He  was  a  most  sarcastic  man,  this  quiet  Mr.  Brown, 
And  on  several  occasions  he  had  cleaned  out  the  town. 

Now,  I  hold  it  is  not  decent  for  a  scientific  gent 
To  say  another  is  an  ass — at  least,  to  all  intent; 
Nor  should  the  individual  who  happens  to  be  meant 
Reply  by  heaving  rocks  at  him  to  any  great  extent. 

Then  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  raised  a  point  of  order,  when 
A  chunk  of  old  red  sand^one  took  him  in  the  abdomen. 
And  he  smiled  a  kind  of  sickly  smile,  and  curled  up  on  the 

floor, 
And  the  subsequent  proceedings  interested  him  no  more. 

For,  in  less  time  than  I  write  it,  every  member  did  engage 

In  a  warfare  with  the  remnants  of  a  palaeozoic  age ; 

And  the  way  they  heaved  those  fossils  in  their  anger  was  a 
sin, 

Till  the  skull  of  an  old  mammoth  caved  the  head  of  Thomp- 
son in. 

And  this  is  all  I  hare  to  say  of  these  improper  games 

For  I  live  at  Table  Mountain,  and  my  name  is  Truthful 

James; 
And  I've  told,  in  simple  language,  what  I  know  about  the 

row 
That  broke  up  our  society  upon  the  Stanislow. 

Bret  Harte. 


662  Narrative 


"  JIM  " 

Say  there !    P'r'aps 
Some  on  you  chaps 

Might  know  Jim  Wild? 
Well, — no  offence: 
Thar  ain't  no  sense 

In  gittin'  riled  I 

Jim  was  my  chum 

Up  on  the  Bar: 
That^s  why  I  come 

Down  from  up  yar, 
Look  in'  for  Jim. 
Thank  ye,  sir!  you 
Ain't  of  that  crew, — 

Blest  if  you  are! 

Money? — Not  much; 

That  ain't  my  kind : 
I  ain't  no  such. 

Kum? — I  don't  mind, 
Seein'  it's  you. 

Well,  this  yer  Jim, 
Did  you  know  him? — 
Jess  'bout  your  size; 
Same  kind  of  eyes ; — 

Well,  that  is  strange: 
Why,  it's  two  year 
Since  he  came  here, 

Sick,  for  a  change. 

Well,  here's  to  us : 
Eh? 

The  h— ,  you  say ! 
Dead? 

That  little  cuss? 


William  Brown  of  Oregon  653 

What  makes  you   star, — 
You  over  thar? 
Can't  a  man  drop 
's  glass  'n  yer  shop 
But  you  must  rar'? 

It  wouldn't  take 

D —  much  to  break 
You  and  your  bar. 

Dead! 
Poor — little — Jim ! 
— Why,  thar  was  me, 
Jones,  and  Bob  Lee, 
Harry  and  Ben, — 

No — account  men:  v 

Then  to  take  him! 

Well,  thar — Good-bye — 
No  more,  sir, — I — 

Eh? 
What's  that  you  say? — 
Why,  dern  it! — sho! — 
No?    Yes!    By  Jo! 

Sold! 
Sold!    Why,  you  limb! 
You  ornery, 

Derned  old 
Long-legged  Jim! 

Bret  Harte. 


WILLIAM  BROWN  OF  OREGON 

They  called  him  Bill,  the  hired  man, 
But  she,  her  name  was  Mary  Jane, 
The  Squire's  daughter;  and  to  reign 

The  belle  from  Ber-she-be  to  Dan 

Her  little  game.    How  lovers  rash 
Got  mittens  at  the  spelling  school! 
How  many  a  mute,  inglorious  fool 

Wrote  rhymes  and  sighed  and  died — mustache! 


654  Narrative 

This  hired  man  had  loved  her  long, 
Had  loved  her  best  and  first  and  last, 
Her  very  garments  as  she  passed 

For  him  had  symphony  and  song. 

So  when  one  day  with  sudden  frown 

She  called  him  "  Bill,"  he  raised  his  head, 
He  caught  her  eye  and,  faltering,  said, 

"  I  love  you ;  and  my  name  is  Brown." 

She  fairly  waltzed  with  rage;  she  wept; 
You  would  have  thought  the  house  on  fire. 
She  told  her  sire,  the  portly  squire, 
Then  smelt  her  smelling-salts,  and  slept. 
,  Poor  William  did  what  could  be  done; 

*         He  swung  a  pistol  on  each  hip. 
He  gathered  up  a  great  ox-whip, 
And  drove  toward  the  setting  sun. 

He  crossed  the  great  back-bone  of  earth, 
He  saw  the  snowy  mountains  rolled 
Like  mighty  billows;  saw  the  gold 

Of  awful  sunsets;  felt  the  birth 

Of  sudden  dawn  that  burst  the  night 
Like  resurrection;  saw  the  face 
Of  God  and  named  it  boundless  space 

Ringed  round  with  room  and  shoreless  light. 

Her  lovers  passed.    Wolves  hunt  in  packs, 
They  sought  for  bigger  game;  somehow 
They  seemed  to  see  above  her  brow 

The  forky  sign  of  turkey  tracks. 

The  teter-board  of  life  goes  up, 
The  teter-board  of  life  goes  down, 
The  sweetest  face  must  learn  to  frown; 

The  biggest  dog  has  been  a  pup. 

O  maidens!  pluck  not  at  the  air; 
The  sweetest  flowers  I  have  found 
Grow  rather  close  unto  the  ground. 

And  highest  places  are  most  bare. 


William  Brown  of  Oregon  655 

Why,  you  had  better  win  the  grace 

Of  our  poor  cussed  Af-ri-can, 

Than  win  the  eyes  of  every  man 
In  love  alone  with  his  own  face. 


At  last  she  nursed  her  true  desire. 
She  sighed,  she  wept  for  William  Brown, 
She  watched  the  splendid  sun  go  down 

Like  some  great  sailing  ship  on  fire, 

Then  rose  and  checked  her  trunk  right  on ; 
And  in  the  cars  she  lunched  and  lunched, 
And  had  her  ticket  punched  and  punched, 

Until  she  came  to  Oregon. 

She  reached  the  limit  of  the  lines. 
She  wore  blue  specs  upon  her  nose, 
Wore  rather  short  and  manly  clothes, 

And  so  set  out  to  reach  the  mines. 

Her  pocket  held  a  parasol 

Her  right  hand  held  a  Testament, 
And  thus  equipped  right  on  she  went, 

Went  water-proof  and  water-fall. 

She  saw  a  miner  gazing  down, 

Slow  stirring  something  with  a  spoon; 
"  O,  tell  me  true  and  tell  me  soon, 

What  has  become  of  William  Brown?" 

He  looked  askance  beneath  her  specs, 

Then  stirred  his  cocktail  round  and  round, 
Then  raised  his  head  and  sighed  profound, 

And  said,  "  He's  handed  in  his  checks." 

Then  care  fed  on  her  damaged  cheek. 
And  she  grew  faint,  did  Mary  Jane, 
And  smelt  her  smelling-salts  in  vain. 

She  wandered,  weary,  worn,  and  weak. 

At  last,  upon  a  hill  alone. 

She  came,  and  there  she  sat  her  down; 
For  on  that  hill  there  stood  a  stone. 

And,  lo!  that  stone  read,  "  William  Brown." 


666  Narrative 

"  O  William  Brown !  O  William  Browi? ! 

And  here  you  rest  at  last,"  she  said, 

"  With  this  lone  stone  above  your  head, 
And  forty  miles  from  any  town! 
I  will  plant  cjrpress  trees,  I  will, 

And  I  will  build  a  fence  around. 

And  I  will  fertilise  the  ground 
With  tears  enough  to  turn  a  mill." 

She  went  and  got  a  hired  man, 

She  brought  him  forty  miles  from  town, 
And  in  the  tall  grass  squatted  down 

And  bade  him  build  as  she  should  plan. 

But  cruel  cow-boys  with  their  bands 
They  saw,  and  hurriedly  they  ran 
And  told  a  bearded  cattle  man 

Somebody  builded  on  his  lands. 

He  took  his  rifle  from  the  rack, 

He  girt  himself  in  battle  pelt, 

He  stuck  two  pistols  in  his  belt. 
And,  mounting  on  his  horse's  back, 
He  plunged  ahead.    But  when  they  showed 

A  woman  fair,  about  his  eyes 

He  pulled  his  hat,  and  he  likewise 
Pulled  at  his  beard,  and  chewed  and  chewed. 

At  last  he  gat  him  down  and  spake: 

"  O  lady  dear,  what  do  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  build  a  tomb  unto  my  dear, 
T  plant  sweet  flowers  for  his  sake." 
The  bearded  man  threw  his  two  hands 

Above  his  head,  then  brought  them  down 

And  cried,  "  Oh,  I  am  William  Brown, 
And  this  the  corner-stone  of  my  lands ! " 

Joaquin  Miller. 


Little  Breeches  657 


LITTLE  BKEECHES 


I  don't  go  much  on  religion, 

I  never  ain't  had  no  show; 
But  I've  got  a  middlin'  tight  grip,  sir, 

On  a  handful  o'  things  I  know. 
I  don't  pan  out  on  the  prophets 

And  free-will  and  that  sort  of  thing — 
But  I  be'lieve  in  God  and  the  angels. 

Ever  sence  one  night  last  spring. 


I  come  into  town  with  some  turnips, 

And  my  little  Gabe  come  along — 
No  four-year-old  in  the  county 

Could  beat  him  for  pretty  and  strong — 
Peart  and  chipper  and  sassy, 

Always  ready  to  swear  and  fight — 
And  I'd  larnt  him  to  chaw  terbacker 

Jest  to  keep  his  milk-teeth  white. 


The  snow  come  down  like  a  blanket 

As  I  passed  by  Taggart's  store; 
I  went  in  for  a  jug  of  molasses 

And  left  the  team  at  the  door. 
They  scared  at  something  and  started- 

I  heard  one  little  squall, 
And  hell-to-split  over  the  prairie! 

Went  team,  Little  Breeches,  and  all. 


Hell-to-split  over  the  prairie! 

I  was  almost  froze  with  skeer; 
But  we  rousted  up  some  torches, 

And  sarched  for  'em  far  and  near. 
At  last  we  struck  bosses  and  wagon, 

Snowed  under  a  soft  white  mound, 
Upsot,  dead  beat,  but  of  little  Gabe 

No  hide  nor  hair  was  found. 


658  Narrative 

And  here  all  hope  soured  on  me 

Of  my  fellow-critter's  aid; 
I  jest  flopped  down  on  my  marrow-bones, 

Crotch-deep  in  the  snow,  and  prayed. 

By  this,  the  torches  was  played  out, 

And  me  and  Isrul  Parr 
Went  off  for  some  wood  to  a  sheepfold 

That  he  said  was  somewhar  thar. 

We  found  it  at  last,  and  a  little  shed 
Where  they  shut  up  the  lambs  at  night ; 

We  looked  in  and  seen  them  huddled  thar, 
So  warm  and  sleepy  and  white; 

And  thar  sot  Little  Breeches  and  chirped, 
As  peart  as  ever  you  see, 

"I  want  a  chaw  of  terbacker. 


How  did  he  git  thar?    Angels. 

He  could  never  have  walked  in  that  storm 
They  jest  scooped  down  and  toted  him 

To  whar  it  was  safe  and  warm. 
And  I  think  that  saving  a  little  child. 

And  fetching  him  to  his  own, 
Is  a  derned  sight  better  business 

Than  loafing  around  the  Throne. 


John  Hay. 


THE  ENCHANTED  SHIRT 

The  King  was  sick.    His  cheek  was  red. 

And  his  eye  was  clear  and  bright; 
He  ate  and  drank  with  a  kingly  zest. 

And  peacefully  snored  at  night. 

But  he  said  he  was  sick,  and  a  king  should  know, 

And  doctors  came  by  the  score. 
They  did  not  cure  him.    He  cut  off  their  heads. 

And  sent  to  the  schools  for  more. 


I 


The  Enchanted  Shirt  659 

At  last  two  famous  doctors  came, 

And  one  was  as  poor  as  a  rat, — 
He  had  passed  his  life  in  studious  toil, 

And  never  found  time  to  grow  fat. 

The  other  had  never  looked  in  a  book; 

His  patients  gave  him  no  trouble: 
If  they  recovered,  they  paid  him  well; 

If  they  died,  their  heirs  paid  double. 

Together  they  looked  at  the  royal  tongue, 

As  the  King  on  his  couch  reclined; 
In  succession  they  thumped  his  august  chest. 

But  no  trace  of  disease  could  find. 

The  old  sage  said,  "  You're  as  sound  as  a  nut." 
"  Hang  him  up,"  roared  the  King  in  a  gale — 

In  a  ten-knot  gale  of  royal  rage ; 
The  other  leech  grew  a  shade  pale ; 

But  he  pensively  rubbed  his  sagacious  nose. 

And  thus  his  prescription  ran — 
The  King  will  he  well,  if  he  sleeps  one  night 

In  the  Shirt  of  a  Happy  Man. 


Wide  o'er  the  realm  the  couriers  rode, 

And  fast  their  horses  ran. 
And  many  they  saw,  and  to  many  they  spoke, 

But  they  found  no  Happy  Man. 

They  found  poor  men  who  would  fain  be  rich. 
And  rich  who  thought  they  were  poor; 

And  men  who  twisted  their  waist  in  stays, 
And  women  that  shorthose  wore. 

They  saw  two  men  by  the  roadside  sit, 

And  both  bemoaned  their  lot; 
For  one  had  buried  his  wife,  he  said, 

And  the  other  one  had  not. 


660  Narrative 

At  last  they  came  to  a  village  gate, 

A  beggar  lay  whistling  there; 
He  whistled,  and  sang,  and  laughed,  and  rolled 

On  the  grass  in  the  soft  June  air. 

The  weary  courtiers  paused  and  looked 

At  the  scamp  so  blithe  and  gay; 
And  one  of  them  said,  "  Heaven  save  you,  friend ! 

You  seem  to  be  happy  to-day." 

"  O  yes,  fair  sirs,"  the  rascal  laughed. 

And  his  voice  rang  free  and  glad ; 
"An  idle  man  has  so  much  to  do 

That  he  never  has  time  to  be  sad.^' 


"  Our  luck  has  lead  us  aright. 
I  will  give  you  a  hundred  ducats,  friend. 
For  the  loan  of  your  shirt  to-night." 

The  merry  blackguard  lay  back  on  the  grass, 

And  laughed  till  his  face  was  black ; 
"  I  would  do  it,  God  wot,"  and  he  roared  with  the  fun, 

"  But  I  haven't  a  shirt  to  my  back." 


Each  day  to  the  King  the  reports  came  in  . 

Of  his  unsuccessful  spies, 
And  the  sad  panorama  of  human  woes 

Passed  daily  under  his  eyes. 

And  he  grew  ashamed  of  his  useless  life. 

And  his  maladies  hatched  in  gloom; 
He  opened  his  windows  and  let  the  air 

Of  the  free  heaven  into  his  room. 

And  out  he  went  in  the  world,  and  toiled 

In  his  own  appointed  way; 
And  the  people  blessed  him,  the  land  was  glad, 

And  the  King  was  well  and  gay. 

John  Hay. 


Jim  Bludso  661 


JIM  BLUDSO 


Wal,  no !    I  can't  tell  whar  he  lives, 

Because  he  don't  live,  you  see; 
Leastways,  he's  got  out  of  the  habit 

Of  livin'  like  you  and  me. 
Whar  have  you  been  for  the  last  three  years 

That  you  haven't  heard  folks  tell 
How  Jemmy  Bludso  passed-in  his  checks, 

The  night  of  the  Prairie  Belle? 


He  weren't  no  saint — them  engineers 

Is  all  pretty  much  alike — 
One  wife  in  Natchez-under-the-Hill, 

And  another  one  here  in  Pike. 
A  keerless  man  in  his  talk  was  Jim, 

And  an  awkward  man  in  a  row— ^ 
But  he  never  flunked,  and  he  never  lied; 

I  reckon  he  never  knowed  how. 


And  this  was  all  the  religion  he  had— 

To  treat  his  engines  well; 
Never  be  passed  on  the  river; 

To  mind  the  pilot's  bell; 
And  if  ever  the  Prairie  Belle  took  fire, 

A  thousand  times  he  swore. 
He'd  hold  her  nozzle  agin  thel^ank 

Till  the  last  soul  got  ashore. 


All  boats  have  their  day  on  the  Mississip, 

And  her  day  come  at  last. 
The  Movastar  was  a  better  boat, 

But  the  Belle  she  wouldn't  be  passed; 
And  so  come  tearin'  along  that  night, — 

The  oldest  craft  on  the  line. 
With  a  nigger  squat  on  her  safety  valve. 

And  her  furnace  crammed,  rosin  and  pine. 


662  Narrative 

The  fire  bust  out  as  she  clared  the  bar, 

And  burnt  a  hole  in  the  night. 
And  quick  as  a  flash  she  turned,  and  made 

To  that  wilier-bank  on  the  right. 
There  was  runnin'  and  cursin',  but  Jim  yelled  out 

Over  all  the  infernal  roar, 
"  I'll  hold  her  nozzle  agin  the  bank 

Till  the  last  galoot's  ashore." 


Through  the  hot  black  breath  of  the  burnin'  boat 

Jim  Bludso's  voice  was  heard. 
And  they  all  had  trust  in  his  cussedness. 

And  know  he  would  keep  his  word. 
And,  sure's  you're  born,  they  all  got  off 

Afore  the  smokestacks  fell, — 
And  Bludso's  ghost  went  up  alone 

In  the  smoke  of  the  Prairie  Belle. 


He  weren't  no  saint — but  at  jedgment 

I'd  run  my  chance  with  Jim, 
'Longside  of  some  pious  gentlemen 

That  wouldn't  shook  hands  with  him. 
He'd  seen  his  duty,  a  dead-sure  thing — 

And  went  for  it  thar  and  then; 
And  Christ  ain't  a  going  to  be  too  hard 

On  a  man  that  died  for  men. 

John  Hay. 


WRECK  OF  THE  ''  JULIE  PLANTS  " 

On  wan  dark  night  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

De  win'  she  blow,  blow,  blow. 
An'  de  crew  of  de  wood  scow  "  Julie  Plante  " 

Got  scar't  an*  run  below; 
For  de  win'  she  blow  lak  hurricane, 

Bimeby  she  blow  some  more, 
An'  de  scow  bus'  up  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

Wan  arpent  from  de  shore. 


Wreck  of  the  "Julie  Plante  "  663 

De  Captinne  walk  on  de  fronte  deck. 

An'  walk  de  hin'  deck,  too — 
He  call  de  crew  from  up  de  hole 

He  call  de  cook  also. 
De  cook  she's  name  was  Rosie, 

She  come  from  Montreal, 
Was  chambre  maid  on  lumber  barge, 

On  de  Grande  Lachine  Canal. 

De  win'  she  blow  from  nor' — eas' — wes' — 

De  sout'  win'  she  blow,  too. 
Wen  Rosie  cry  "  Mon  cher  Captinne,  '    ' 

Mon  cher,  w'at  I  shall  do  ? " 
Den  de  Captinne  t'row  de  big  ankerre. 

But  still  de  scow  she  dreef, 
De  crew  he  can't  pass  on  de  shore, 

Becos'  he  los'  hees  skeef. 

De  night  was  dark,  lak'  one  black  cat, 

De  wave  run  high  an'  fas'. 
Wen  de  Captinne  tak'  de  Rosie  girl 

An'  tie  her  to  de  mas'. 
Den  he  also  tak'  de  life  preserve. 

An'  jomp  off  on  de  lak'. 
An'  say,  "  Good  by,  ma  Rosie  dear, 

I  go  drown  for  your  sak'." 

Nex'  morning  very  early, 

'Bout  ha'f-pas'  two — t'ree — four — 
De  Captinne,  scow,  an'  de  poor  Rosie 

Was  corpses  on  de  shore; 
For  he  win'  she  blow  lak'  hurricane 

Bimeby  she  blow  some  more. 
An'  de  scow  bus'  up  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 

Wan  arpent  from  de  shore. 

MORAL 

Now,  all  good  wood  scow  sailor  man 

Tak'  warning  by  dat  storm. 
An'  go  an'  marry  some  nice  French  girl 

An'  leev  on  wan  beeg  farm; 


664}  Narrative 

>.  De  win'  can  blow  lak'  hurricane,  ' 

An'  s'pose  she  blow  some  more, 
You  can't  get  drown  on  Lac  St.  Pierre, 
So  long  you  stay  on  shore. 

William  Henry  Drummond. 


THE  ALAKMED  SKIPPER 

"it  was  an  ancient  mariner" 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago, 
Nantucket  skippers  had  a  plan 
Of  finding  out,  though  "  lying  low," 
How  near  New  York  their  schooners  ran. 

They  greased  the  lead  before  it  fell, 
And  then,  by  sounding  through  the  night, 
Knowing  the  soil  that  stuck,  so  well. 
They  always  guessed  their  reckoning  right. 

A  skipper  gray,  whose  eyes  were  dim, 
Could  tell,  by  tasting,  just  the  spot, 
And  so  below  he'd  "  dowse  the  glim  " — 
After,  of  course,  his  "  something  hoi. 

Snug  in  his  berlh,  at  eight  o'clock, 
This  ancient  skipper  might  be  found; 
No  matter  how  his  craft  would  rock. 
He  slept — for  skippers'  naps  are  sound! 

The  watch  on  deck  would  now  and  then 
Run  down  and  wake  him,  with  the  lead; 
He'd  up,  and  taste,  and  tell  the  men 
How  many  miles  they  went  ahead. 

One  night,  'twas  Jotham  Marden's  watch, 
A  curious  wag — the  peddler's  son — 
And  so  he  mused  (the  wanton  wretch), 
"  To-night  I'll  have  a  grain  of  fun. 


The  Elderly  Gentleman  660 

"  We're  all  a  set  of  stupid  fools 

To  think  the  skipper  knows  by  tasting 

What  ground  he's  on — Nantucket  schools 

Don't  teach  such  stuff,  with  all  their  basting!" 

And  so  he  took  the  well-greased  lead 
And  rubbed  it  o'er  a  box  of  earth 
That  stood  on  deck — a  parsnip-bed — 
And  then  he  sought  the  skipper's  berth. 

"  Where  are  we  now,  sir?    Please  to  taste." 
The  skipper  yawned,  put  out  his  tongue. 
Then  ope'd  his  eyes  in  wondrous  haste, 
And  then  upon  the  floor  he  sprung! 

The  skipper  stormed  and  tore  his  hair, 
Thrust  on  his  boots,  and  roared  to  Harden, 
*'  Nantucket's  sunh,  and  here  we  are 
Right  over  old  Marm  Ilackett's  garden!" 

James  Thomas  Fields. 


THE  ELDERLY  GENTLEMAN 

By  the  side  of     murmuring  stream  an  elderly  gentleman  sat. 
On  the  top  of  iiis  head  was  a  wig,  and  a-top  of  his  wig  was 
his  hat. 

The  wind  it  blew  high  and  blew  strong,  as  the  elderly  gentle- 
man sat; 

And  bore  from  his  head  in  a  trice,  and  plunged  in  the  river 
his  hat. 

The  gentleman  then  took  his  cane  which  lay  by  his  side 

as  he  sat; 
And  he  dropped  in  the  river  his  wig,  in  attempting  to  get 

out  his  hat. 

His  breast  it  grew  cold  with  despair,  and  full  in  his  eye 

madness  sat; 
So  he  flung  in  the  river  his  cane  to  swim  with  his  wig,  and 

his  hat. 


666  Narrative 

Cool  reflection  at  last  came  across  while  this  elderly  gentle- 
man sat; 

So  he  thought  he  would  follow  the  stream  and  look  for  his 
cane,  wig,  and  hat. 

His  head  being  thicker  than  common,  o'er-balanced  the  rest 

of  his  fat; 
And  in  plumped  this  son  of  a  woman  to  follow  his  wig, 

cane,  and  hat. 

George  Canning. 


SAYING  NOT  MEANING 

Two  gentlemen  their  appetite  had  fed, 

When  opening  his  toothpick-case,  one  said, 

"  It  was  not  until  lately  that  I  knew 

That  anchovies  on  terra  firmd  grew. 

"Grow!"  cried  the  other,  "yes,  they  grow,  indeed, 

Like  other  fish,  but  not  upon  the  land ; 
You  might  as  well  say  grapes  grow  on  a  reed, 

Or  in  the  Strand ! " 

"  Why,  sir,"  returned  the  irritated  other, 
"  My  brother, 
When  at  Calcutta 
Beheld  them  hond  fide  growing; 

He  wouldn't  utter 
A  lie  for  love  or  money,  sir;  so  in 

This  matter  you  are  thoroughly  mistaken." 
"  Nonsense,  sir !  nonsense !    I  can  give  no  credit 
To  the  assertion — none  e'er  saw  or  read  it; 
Your  brother,  like  his  evidence,  should  be  shaken." 

"  Be  shaken,  sir !  let  me  observe,  you  are 

Perverse — in  short — " 
"  Sir,"  said  the  other,  sucking  his  cigar. 

And  then  his  port — 
"If  you  will  say  impossibles  are  true. 

You  may  affirm  just  anything  you  please — 
That  swans  are  quadrupeds,  and  lions  blue, 
And  elephants  inhabit  Stilton  cheese! 


Saying  not  Meaning  667 

Only  you  must  not  force  me  to  believe 
What's  propagated  merely  to  deceive." 

"  Then  you  force  me  to  say,  sir,  you're  a  fool," 

Return'd  the  bragger. 
Language  like  this  no  man  can  suffer  cool: 
It  made  the  listener  stagger; 
So,  thunder-stricken,  he  at  once  replied, 
"  The  traveler  lied 

Who  had  the  impudence  to  tell  it  you ;  " 
"Zounds!  then  d'ye  mean  to  swear  before  my  face 
That  anchovies  don't  grow  like  cloves  and  mace?" 
''Idol" 

Disputants  often  after  hot  debates 

Leave  the  contention  as  they  found  it — ^bone, 

And  take  to  duelling  or  thumping  tetes; 
Thinking  by  strength  of  artery  to  atone 

For  strength  of  argument;  and  he  who  winces 

From  force  of  words,  with  force  of  arms  convinces! 

With  pistols,  powder,  bullets,  surgeons,  lint, 

Seconds,  and  smelling-bottles,  and  foreboding. 

Our  friends  advanced ;  and  now  portentous  loading 
(Their  hearts  already  loaded)  serv'd  to  show 
It  might  be  better  they  shook  hands — but  no; 

When  each  opines  himself,  though  frighten'd,  right, 

Each  is,  in  courtesy,  oblig'd  to  fight! 
And  they  did  fight :  from  six  full  measured  paces 

The  unbeliever  pulled  his  trigger  first; 
And  fearing,  from  the  braggart's  ugly  faces. 

The  whizzing  lead  had  whizz'd  its  very  worst, 
Ran  up,  and  with  a  duelistic  fear 

(His  ire  evanishing  like  morning  vapors). 
Found  him  possessed  of  one  remaining  ear, 

Who  in  a  manner  sudden  and  uncouth, 

Had  given,  not  lent,  the  other  ear  to  truth; 
For  while  the  surgeon  was  applying  lint. 
He,  wriggling,  cried — ''  The  deuce  is  in't — 

"  Sir,  I  meant — capers  !  " 

William  Basil  Wake, 


668  Narrative 


HANS  BREITMANN'S  PARTY 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty; 

Dey  had  biano-blayin' : 
I  felled  in  lofe  mit  a  Merican  frau. 

Her  name  was  Madilda  Yane. 
She  hat  haar  as  prown  ash  a  pretzel. 

Her  eyes  vas  himmel-plue, 
Und  ven  dey  looket  indo  mine, 

Dey  shplit  mine  heart  in  two. 


Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty: 

I  vent  dere,  you'll  pe  pound. 
I  valtzet  mit  Madilda  Yane 

Und  vent  shpinnen  round  und  round. 
De  pootiest  Fraulein  in  de  house, 

She  vayed  'pout  dwo  hoondre4  pound, 
IJnd  efery  dime  she  gife  a  shoomp 

She  make  de  vindows  sound. 


Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty : 

I  dells  you  it  cost  him  dear. 
Dey  rolled  in  more  ash  sefen  kecks 

Of  foost-rate  Lager  Beer, 
Und  venefer  dey  knocks  de  shpicket  in 

De  Deutschers  gifes  a  cheer. 
I  dinks  dat  so  vine  a  barty 

Nefer  coom  to  a  het  dis  year. 


Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty: 

Dere  all  vas  Souse  und  Brouse; 
Ven  de  sooper  comed  in,  de  gompany 

Did  make  demselfs  to  house. 
Dey  ate  das  Brot  und  Gepsy  broost, 

De  Bratwurst  und  Braten  fine, 
Und  vash  der  Abendessen  down 

Mit  four  parrels  of  Neckarwein. 


Ballad  by  Hans  Brcitmann  669 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty. 

We  all  cot  troonk  ash  bigs. 
I  poot  mine  mout  to  a  parrel  of  bier, 

Und  emptied  it  oop  mit  a  schwigs. 
Und  denn  I  gissed  Madilda  Yane 

Und  she  shlog  me  on  de  kop, 
Und  de  gompany  fited  mit  daple-lecks 

Dill  be  coonshtable  made  oos  shtop. 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty — 

Where  ish  dat  barty  now! 
Where  ish  de  lofely  golden  cloud 

Dat  float  on  de  moundain's  prow? 
Where  ish  de  himmelstrahlende  Stern — 

De  shtar  of  de  shpirit's  light? 
All  goned  afay  mit  de  Lager  Beer — 

Afay  in  deEwigkeit! 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland. 


BALLAD   BY  HANS  BKEITMANN 

Der  noble  Bitter  Hugo 

Von  Schwillensaufenstein 
Rode  out  mit  shpeer  and  helmet, 

Und  he  coom  to  de  panks  of  de  Rhine. 

Und  oop  dere  rose  a  meermaid, 

Fot  hadn't  got  nodings  on, 
Und  she  say,  "  Oh,  Ritter  Hugo, 

Vhere  you  goes  mit  yourself  alone? " 

And  he  says,  "  I  ride  in  de  creenwood, 

Mit  helmet  und  mit  shpeer, 
Till  I  cooms  into  em  Gasthaus, 

Und  dere  I  trinks  some  beer." 

Und  den  outshpoke  the  maiden 

Vot  hadn't  got  nodings  on : 
"  T  ton't  tink  mooch  of  beoplesh 

Dat  goes  mit  demselfs  alone. 


670  Narrative 

"You'd  petter  coom  down  in  de  wasser, 
Vhere  deres  heaps  of  dings  to  see, 

Und  hafe  a  shplendid  tinner 
Und  drafel  along  mit  me. 

"  Dere  you  sees  de  fisch  a  schwimmin', 
Und  you  catches  dem  ef ery  von :  " — 

So  sang  dis  wasser  maiden, 
Vot  hadn't  got  nodings  on. 

"  Dere  ish  drunks  all  full  mit  money 

In  ships  dat  vent  down  of  old; 
Und  you  helpsh  yourself,  by  dunderl 

To  shimmerin'  crowns  of  gold. 

"  Shoost  look  at  these  shpoons  and  vatches ! 

Shoost  see  dese  diamant  rings! 
Coom  down  and  fill  your  pockets, 

And  I'll  giss  you  like  efery  dings. 

"Vot  you  vanst  mit  your  schnapps  and  lager? 

Come  down  into  der  Rhine ! 
Der  ish  pottles  de  Kaiser  Charlemagne 

Vonce  filled  mit  gold-red  wine !  " 

Dat  fetched  him — she  shtood  all  shpell-pound ; 

She  pooled  his  coat-tails  down ; 
She  drawed  him  oonder  der  wasser, 

De  maiden  mit  nodings  on. 

Charles  Godfrey  Leland. 


GRAMPY  SINGS  A  SONG 

Row-DIDDY,  dow  de,  my  little  sis. 

Hush  up  your  teasin'  and  listen  to  this : 

'Tain't  much  of  a  jingle,  'tain't  much  of  a  tune, 

But  it's  spang-fired  truth  about  Chester  Cahoon. 

The  thund'rinest  fireman  Lord  ever  made 

Was  Chester  Cahoon  of  the  Tuttsville  Brigade. 

He  was  boss  of  the  tub  and  the  foreman  of  hose; 

When  the  'larm  rung  he'd  start,  sis,  a-sheddin'  his  clothes, 


Grampy  Sings  a  Song  671 

— Slung  cote  and  slung  wes'cote  and  kicked  off  his  shoes, 

A-runnin'  like  fun,  for  he'd  no  time  to  lose. 

And  he'd  howl  down  the  ro'd  in  a  big  cloud  of  dust, 

For  he  made  it  his  brag  he  was  alius  there  fust. 

— Alius  there  fust,  with  a  whoop  and  a  shout, 

And  he  never  shut  up  till  the  fire  was  out. 

And  he'd  knock  out  the  winders  and  save  all  the  doors, 

And  tear  off  the  clapboards,  and  rip  up  the  floors. 

For  he  alius  allowed  'twas  a  tarnation  sin 

To  'low  'em  to  burn,  for  you'd  want  'em  agin. 

He  gen'rally  stirred  up  the  most  of  his  touse 

In  hustling  to  save  the  outside  of  the  house. 

And  after  he'd  wrassled  and  hollered  and  pried. 

He'd  let  up  and  tackle  the  stuff  'twas  inside. 

To  see  him  you'd  think  he  was  daft  as  a  loon. 

But  that  was  jest  habit  with  Chester  Gaboon. 

Row  diddy-iddy,  my  little  sis. 

Now  see  what  ye  think  of  a  doin'  like  this: 

The  time  of  the  fire  at  Jenkins'  old  place 

It  got  a  big  start — was  a  desprit  case; 

The  fambly  they  didn't  know  which  way  to  turn. 

And  by  gracious,  it  looked  like  it  all  was  to  burn. 

But  Chester  Cahoon — oh,  that  Chester  Gaboon, 

He  sailed  to  the  roof  like  a  reg'lar  balloon ; 

Donno  how  he  done  it,  but  done  it  he  did, 

— Went  down  through  the  scuttle  and  shet  down  the  lid. 

And  five  minutes  later  that  critter  he  came 

To  the  second  floor  winder  surrounded  by  flame. 

He  lugged  in  his  arms,  sis,  a  stove  and  a  bed, 

And  balanced  a  bureau  right  square  on  his  head. 

His  hands  they  was  loaded  with  crockery  stuff, 

China  and  glass;  as  if  that  warn't  enough, 

He'd  rolls  of  big  quilts  round  his  neck  like  a  wreath. 

And  carried  Mis'  Jenkins'  old  aunt  with  his  teeth. 

You're  right — gospel  right,  little  sis, — didn't  seem 

The  critter'd  git  down,  but  he  called  for  the  stream. 

And  when  it  come  strong  and  big  round  as  my  wrist. 

He  stuck  out  his  legs,  sis,  and  give  'em  a  twist; 

And  he  hooked  round  the  water  jes'  if  'twas  a  rope, 

And  down  he  come  easin'  himself  on  the  slope, 


672  Narrative 

— So  almighty  spry  that  he  made  that  'ere  stream 
As  fit  for  his  pupp'us'  as  if  'twas  a  beam. 
Oh,  the  thund'rinest  fireman  Lord  ever  made 
Was  Chester  Cahoon  of  the  Tiittsville  Brigade. 

Holman  F.  Day. 


THE  FIKST  BANJO 

Go  'way,  fiddle;  folks  is  tired  o'  hearin'  you  a-squawkin' — 
Keep    silence   fur   yo'    betters! — don't   you    heah    de    banjo 

talkin'? 
About  de  'possum's  tail  she's  gwine  to  lecter — ladies,  listen ! — 
About  de  ha'r  whut  isn't  dar,  an'  why  de  ha'r  is  missin': 

"  Dar's  gwine  to  be  a'  oberflow,"  said  Noah,  lookin'  solemn — 
Fur  Noah  tuk  the  "  Herald"  an'  he  read  de  ribber  column — 
An'  so  he  sot  his  hands  to  wuk  a-cl'arin'  timber-patches, 
An'  'lowed  he's  gwine  to  build  a  boat  to  beat  de  steamah 
Natchez, 

01'  Noah  kep'  a-nailin'  an'  a-chippin'  an'  a-sawin'; 

An'  all  de  wicked  neighbours  kep'  a-laughin'  an'  a-pshawin'; 

But   Noah   didn't   min'   'em,   knowin'   whut  wuz   gwine   to 

happen : 
An'  forty  days  an'  forty  nights  de  rain  it  kep'  a-drappin'. 

Now,  Noah  had  done  cotched  a  lot  ob  ebry  sort  o'  beas'es — 
Ob  all  de  shows  a-trabbelin',  it  beat  'em  all  to  pieces ! 
He  had  a  Morgan  colt  an'  sebral  head  o'  Jarsey  cattle — 
An'  druv  'em  'board  de  Ark  as  soon  's  he  heered  de  thunder 
rattle. 

Den  sech  anoder  fall  ob  rain! — it  come  so  awful  hebby, 
De  ribber  riz  immejitly,  an'  busted  troo  de  lebbee; 
De  people  all  wuz  drownded  out — 'cep'  Noah  an'  de  critters, 
An'  men  he'd  hired  to  work  de  boat — an'  one  to  mix  de  bitters. 

De  Ark  she  kep'  a-sailin'  an'  a-sailin',  an   a-sailin'; 
De  lion  got  his  dander  up,  an'  like  to  bruk  de  palin' ; 


The  First  Banjo  673 

De  sarpints  hissed;  de  painters  yelled;  tell,  whut  wid  all  de 

fussin', 
You    c'u'dn't    hardly    heah    de    mate    a-bossin'    round'    an' 


Now,  Ham,  he  only  nigger  whut  waz  runnin'  on  de  packet, 
Got  lonesome  in  de  barber-shop,  and  c'u'dn't  stan'  de  racket; 
An'  so,  fur  to  amuse  he-se'f,  he  steamed  some  wood  an' 

bent  it. 
An'  soon  he  had  a  banjo  made — de  fust  dat  wuz  invented. 

He  wet  de  ledder,  stretched  it  on;  made  bridge  an'  screws 

an  aprin; 
An'  fitted  in  a  proper  neck — 'twas  berry  long  and  tap'rin'; 
He  tuk  some  tin,  an'  twisted  him  a  thimble  .fur  to  ring  it; 
An'   den   de   mighty   question   riz:   how   wuz   he   gwine   to 

string  it? 

De  'possum  had  as  fine  a  tail  as  dis  dat  T's  a-singin'; 

De  ha'r's  so  long  an'  thick  an'  strong, — des  fit  fur  banjo- 

stringin'; 
Dat   nigger    shaved    'em    off   as    short   as    wash-day-dinner 

graces ; 
An'  sorted  ob  'em  by  de  size,  f'om  little  E's  to  basses. 

He  strung  her,   tuned  her,   struck   a  jig, — 'twus   "Nebber 

min'  de  wedder," — 
She  soun'  like  forty-lebben  bands  a-playin'  all  togedder; 
Some   went   to   pattin';    some   to    dancin':    Noah   called   de 

figgers ; 
An'  Ham  he  sot  an''  knocked  de  tune,  de  happiest  ob  niggers ! 

Now,   sence   dat   time — it's   mighty   strange — dere's  not   de 

slightes'  showin' 
Ob  any  ha'r  at  all  upon  de  'possum's  tail  a-growin'; 
An'  curi's,  too,  dat  nigger's  ways:  his  people  nebber  los' 

'em — 
Fur  whar  you  finds  de  nigger — dar's  de  banjo  an'  de  'possum  I 

Irwin  RusS'ell. 


674  Narrative 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  THE  CARPET 

Basking  in  peace  in  the  warm  spring  sun, 
South  Hill  siniled  upon  Burlington. 

The  breath  of  May !  and  the  day  was  fair, 
And  the  bright  motes  danced  in  the  balmy  air. 

And  the  sunlight  gleamed  where  the  restless  breeze 
Kissed  the  fragrant  blooms  on  the  apple-trees. 

His  beardless  cheek  with  a  smile  was  spanned, 
As  he  stood  with  a  carriage  whip  in  his  hand. 

And  he  laughed  as  he  doffed  his  bobtail  coat, 
And  the  echoing  folds  of  the  carpet  smote. 

And  she  smiled  as  she  leaned  on  her  busy  mop. 
And  said  she'd  tell  him  when  to  stop. 

So  he  pounded  away  till  the  dinner-bell 
Gave  him  a  little  breathing  spell. 

But  he  sighed  when  the  kitchen  clock  struck  one, 
And  she  said  the  carpet  wasn't  done. 

But  he  lovingly  put  in  his  biggest  licks, 

And  he  pounded  like  mad  till  the  clock  struck  six. 

And  she  said,  in  a  dubious  sort  of  way, 

That  she  guessed  he  could  finish  it  up  next  day. 

Then  all  that  day,  and  the  next  day,  too, 
That  fuzz  from  tl/ie  dirtless  carpet  flew. 

And  she'd  give  it  a  look  at  eventide. 
And  say,  "  Now  beat  on  the  other  side." 

And  the  new  days  came  as  the  old  days  went. 
And  the  landlord  came  for  his  regular  rent. 


The  Romance  of  the  Carpet  675 

And  the  neighbors  laughed  at  the  tireless  broom, 
And  his  face  was  shadowed  with  clouds  of  gloom. 

Till  at  last,  one  cheerless  winter  day, 
He  kicked  at  the  carpet  and  slid  away. 

Over  the  fence  and  down  the  street, 
Speeding  away  with  footsteps  fleet. 

And  never  again  the  morning  sun 
Smiled  on  him  beating  his  carpet-drum. 

And  South  Hill  often  said  with  a  yawn, 
"  Where's  the  carpet-martyr  gone  ?  " 

Years  twice  twenty  had  come  and  passed 
And  the  carpet  swayed  in  the  autumn  blast. 

For  never  yet,  since  that  bright  spring-time. 
Had  it  ever  been  taken  down  from  the  line. 

Over  the  fence  a  gray-haired  man 
Cautiously  dim,  dome,  clem,  clum,  clamb. 

He  found  him  a  stick  in  the  old  woodpile, 
And  he  gathered  it  up  with  a  sad,  grim  smile. 

A  flush  passed  over  his  face  forlorn 

As  he  gazed  at  the  carpet,  tattered  and  torn. 

And  he  hit  it  a  most  resounding  thwack, 
Till  the  startled  air  gave  his  echoes  back. 

And  out  of  the  window  a  white  face  leaned, 
And  a  palsied  hand  the  pale  face  screened. 

She  knew  his  face ;  she  gasped,  and  sighed, 
"  A  little  more  on  the  other  side."    , 

Right  down  on  the  ground  his  stick  he  throwed, 
And  he  shivered  and  said,  **  Well,  I  am  blowed !  " 


676  Narrative 

And  he  turned  away,  with  a  heart  full  sore, 
And  he  never  was  seen  not  more,  not  more. 

Robert  J.  Burdette. 


THE  HUNTING  OF  THE  SNARK 

"  Come,  listen,  my  men,  while  I  tell  you  again 

The  five   unmistakable  marks 
By  which  you  may  know,  wheresoever  you  go, 

The  warranted  genuine  Snarks. 

"Let  us  take  them  in  order.     The  first  is  the  taste, 
Which  is  meagre  and   hollow,  but  crisp: 

Like  a  coat  that  is  rather  too  tight  in  the  waist. 
With  a  flavor  of  Will-o'-the-wisp. 

"Its  habit  of  getting  up  late  you'll  agree 

That  it  carries  too  far  when  I  say 
That  it  frequently   breakfasts  at  five-o'clock  tea. 

And  dines  on  the  following  day. 


"The  fourth  is  its  fondness  for  bathing-machines, 

Which  it  constantly  carries  about, 
And  believes  that  they  add  to  the  beauty  of  scenes — 

A  sentiment  open  to  doubt. 

"  The  fifth   is  ambition.     It  next  will  be  right 

To  describe  each  particular  batch; 
Distinguishing  those  that  have  feathers,   and   bite. 

From  those  that  have  whiskers,  and  scratch. 

"For,  although  common  Snarks  do  no  manner  of  harm, 

Yet  I  feel   it  my  duty  to  say 
Some   are   Boojums — "     The  Bellman   broke  off  in   alarm, 

For  the  Baker  had   fainted   away. 

They  roused  him  with  muffins — they  roused  him  with  ice — 
They  roused  him  with  mustard  and   cress — 

They  roused  him  with  jam  and  judicious  advice — 
They   set   him   conundrums   to   guess. 


The  Hunting  of  the  Snark  677 

When  at  length  he  sat  up  and  was  able  to  speak, 

His  sad  story   he  offered  to   tell; 
And  the  Bellman  cried  *'  Silence !   Not  even  a   shriek ! " 

And   excitedly   tingled  his  bell. 

There  was  silence  supreme!     Not  a  shriek,  not  a  scream. 

Scarcely  even   a  howl  or  a  groan, 
As  the  man  they  called  "Ho!"  told  his  story  of  woe 

In  an  antediluvian  tone. 

"My   father   and   mother   were  honest,   though   poor — " 
"Skip   all   that!"   cried   the  Bellman   in   haste, 

"  If  it  once  becomes  dark,  there's  no  chance  of  a  Snark, 
We  have  hardly  a  minute  to  waste!" 

"  I  skip  forty  years,"  said  the  Baker,  in  tears, 

"And   proceed   without  further   remark 
To  the  day  when  you  took  me  aboard  of  your  ship 

To  help  you  in  hunting  the  Snark. 

"A  dear  uncle  of  mine   (after  whom  I  was  named) 

Remarked,   when   I   bade  him   farewell — " 
"Oh,  skip  your  dear  uncle/'  the  Bellman  exclaimed. 

As  he  angrily  tingled  his  bell. 

"  He  remarked  to  me  then,"  said  that  mildest  of  men, 
"*If  your   Snark   be  a  Snark,   that  is   right; 

Fetch  it  home  by  all  means — you  may  serve  it  with  greens 
And  it's  handy  for  striking  a  light. 

"'You  may  seek  it  with  thimbles — and  seek  it  with  care; 

You  may  hunt  it  with   forks   and   hope; 
You   may  threaten   its   life  with   a   railway-share; 

You   may   charm   it  with  smiles   and   soap — 

"  *  But  oh,  beamish  nephew,  beware  of  the  day, 

If  your  Snark  be  a  Boojum !     For  then 
You  will  softly  and  suddenly  vanish  away 

And  never  be  met  with  again!' 


678  Narrative 

"  It  is  this,  it  is  this  that  oppresses  my  soul, 
When  I  think  of  my  uncle's  last  words : 

And  my  heart  is  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  bowl 
Brimming  over  with  quivering  curds! 

"  I  engage  with  the  Snark — every  night  after  dark — 

In  a  dreamy  delirious  fight: 
I  serve  it  with  greens  in  those  shadowy  scenes, 

And  I  use  it  for  striking  a  light; 

"  But  if  ever  I  meet  with  a  Boojum,  that  day, 

In  a  moment  (of  this  I  am  sure), 
I  shall  softly  and  suddenly  vanish  away — 

And  the  notion  I  cannot  endure ! " 

Lewis  Carroll. 


THE  OLD  MAN  AND  JIM 

Old  man  never  had  much  to  say — 

'Ceptin*  to  Jim, — 
And  Jim  was  the  wildest  boy  he  had — 

And  the  Old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him  I 
Never  heerd  him  speak  but  once 
Er  twice  in  my  life,^and  first  time  was 
When  the  army  broke  out,  and  Jim   he  went. 
The  Old  man  backin'  him,  fer  three  months. — 
And  all  'at  I  heerd  the  Old  man  say 
Was,  jes'  as  we  turned  to  start  away, — 

**Well;    good-bye,   Jim: 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 

'Peard-like,  he  was  more  satisfied 

Jes'  loohin'  at  Jim, 
And  likin'  him  all  to  hisse'f-like,  see? — 

'Cause  he  was  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him  I 
And  over  and  over  I  mind  the  day 
The  Old  man  come  and  stood  round  in  the  way 
While  we  was  drillin',  a-watchin'  Jim — 
And  down  at  the  deepot  a-heerin'  him  say, — 

"Well;    good-bye,    Jim: 

.  Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 


The  Old  Man  and  Jim  679 

Never  was  nothin'  about  the  farm 

*  Disting'ished  Jim ; — 
Neighbours  all  ust  to  wonder  why 

The  Old  man  'peared  wrapped  up  in  him: 
But  when  Cap.  Biggler,  he  writ  back, 
*At  Jim  was  the  bravest  boy  we  had 
In  the  whole  dem  rigiment,  white  er  black, 
And  his  fightin'  good  as  his  farmin'  bad — 
'At  he  had  led,  with  a  bullet  clean 
Bored  through  his  thigh,  and  carried  the  flag 
Through  the  bloodiest  battle  you  ever  seen, — 
The  Old  man  wound  up  a  letter  to  him 
'At  Cap.  read  to  us,  'at  said, — "  Tell  Jim 

Good-bye ; 

And  take  keer  of  hisse'f." 

Jim  come  back  jes'  long  enough 

To  take  the  whim 
'At  he'd  like  to  go  back  in  the  cavelry — 

And  the  Old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! — 
Jim  'lowed  'at  he'd  had  sich  luck  afore. 
Guessed  he'd  tackle  her  three  years  more. 
And  the  Old  man  give  him  a  colt  he'd  raised 
And  follered  him  over  to  Camp  Ben  Wade, 
And  laid  around  fer  a  week  er  so, 
Watchin'  Jim  on  dress-parade — 
Tel  finally  he  rid   away. 
And  last  he  heerd  was  the  Old  man  say, — 

"  Well ;  good-bye,  Jim : 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 

Tuk  the  papers,  the  Old  man  did, 

A-watchin'  fer  Jim — 
Fully  believin'  he'd  make  his  mark 

Some  way — jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! — 
And  many  a  time  the  word  'u'd  come 
'At  stirred  him  up  like  the  tap  of  a  drum — 
At  Petersburg,  fer  instance,  where 
Jim  rid  right  into  their  cannons  there. 
And  tuk  'em,  and  p'inted  'em  t'other  way. 
And  socked  it  home  to  the  boys  in  grey, 


680  Narrative 

As  they  skooted  fer  timber,  and  on  and  on— 
Jim  a  lieutenant  and  one  arm  gone, 
And  the  Old  man's  words  in  his  mind  all  day, — 
"  Well ;  good-bye,  Jim : 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f ! " 

Think  of  a  private,  now,  perhaps, 

We'll  say  like  Jim, 
'At's  dumb  clean  up  to  the  shoulder-straps — 

And  the  Old  man  jes'  wrapped  up  in  him! 
Think  of  him — with  the  war  plum'  through. 
And  the  glorious  old  Red-White-and-Blue 
A-laughin'  the  news  down  over  Jim, 
And  the  Old  man,  bendin'  over  him-^ 
The  surgeon  turnin'  away  with   tears 
'At  hadn't  leaked  fer  years  and  years — 
As  the  hand  of  the  dyin'  boy  clung  to 
His  father's,  the  old  voice  in  his  ears, — 

"Well;   good-bye,   Jim:  ,  .^.r,  ^  ;,. 

Take  keer  of  yourse'f !  " 

James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


A   SAILOR'S   YARN 

This  is  the  tale  that  was  told  to  me, 
By  a  battered  and  shattered  son  of  the  sea — 
To  me  and  my  messmate,  Silas  Green, 
When  I  was  a  guileless  young  marine* 

"  'TwAS  the  good  ship  Gyascutus, 

All  in  the  China  seas, 
With  the  wind  a-lee  and  the  capstan  free 

To  catch  the  summer  breeze. 


"  'Twas  Captain  Pofgie  on  the  deck. 

To  his  mate  in  the  mizzen  hatch, 
While  the  boatswain  bold,  in  the  forward  hold,     '- 

Was  winding  the  larboard  watch. 


A  Sailor's  Yarn  681 

"  *  Oh,  how  does  our  good  ship  head  to-night? 

How  heads  our  gallant  craft?' 
'  Oh,  she  heads  to  the  E.  S.  W.  by  N., 

And  the  binnacle  lies  abaft ! ' 

"'Oh,  what  does  the  quadrant  indicate, 
And  how  does  the  sextant  stand?' 

*  Oh,  the  sextant's  down  to  the  freezing  point, 

And  the  quadrant's  lost  a  hand ! ' 

"  *  Oh,  and  if  the  quadrant  has  lost  a  hand, 

And  the  sextant  falls  so  low. 
It's  our  bodies  and  bones  to  Davy  Jones 

This  night  are  bound  to  go ! 

"'Oh,  fly  aloft  to  the  garboard  strake! 

And  reef  the  spanker  boom; 
Bend  a  studding  sail  on  the  martingale, 

To  give  her  weather  room. 

"  *  Oh,  boatswain,  down  in  the  f or'ard  hold 
What  water  do  you  find  ? ' 

*  Four  foot  and  a  half  by  the  royal  gaff 

And  rather  more  behind ! ' 

" '  Oh,  sailors,  collar  your  marline  spikes 

And  each  belaying  pin; 
Come  stir  your  stumps,  and  spike  the  pumps, 

Or  more  will  be  coming  in ! ' 

"  They  stirred  their  stumps,  they  spiked  the  pumps. 

They  spliced  the  mizzen  brace; 
Aloft  and  alow  they  worked,  but  oh! 

The  water  gained  apace. 

"  They  bored  a  hole  above  the  keel 

To  let  the  water  out; 
But,  strange  to  say,  to  their  dismay, 

The  water  in  did  spout. 


682  Narrative 

"  Then  up  spoke  the  Cook  of  our  gallant  ship, 
And  he  was  a  lubber  brave: 

*  I  have  several  wives  in  various  ports, 

And  my  life  I'd  orter  save/ 

**  Then  up  spoke  the  Captain  of  Marines, 
Who  dearly  loved  his  prog: 

*  It's  awful  to  die,  and  it's  worse  to  be  dry, 

And  I  move  we  pipe  to  grog.' 

"  Oh,  then  'twas  the  noble  second  mate 

What  filled  them  all  with  awe; 
The  second  mate,  as  bad  men  hate. 

And  cruel  skipper's  jaw, 

"  He  took  the  anchor  on  his  back. 

And  leaped  into  the  main; 
Through  foam  and  spray  he  clove  his  way. 

And  sunk  and  rose  again! 

"  Through  foam  and  spray,  a  league  away 

The  anchor  stout  he  bore; 
Till,  safe  at  last,  he  made  it  fast 

And  warped  the  ship  ashore! 

"  'Taint  much  of  a  job  to  talk  about, 

But  a  ticklish  thing  to  see, 
And  suth'in  to  do,  if  I  say  it,  too. 

For  that  second  mate  was  me ! " 

Such  was  the  tale  that  was  told  to  me 
By  that  modest  and  truthful  son  of  the  sea, 
And  I  envy  the  life  of  a  second  mate, 
Though  captains  curse  him  and  sailors  hate, 
For  he  ain't  like  some  of  the  swdbs  I've  seen, 
As  would  go  and  lie  to  a  poor  marine. 

James  Jeffrey  Roche. 


The  Converted  Cannibals  683 


THE  CONVERTED  CANNIBALS 

Upon  an  island,  all  alone. 

They  lived,  in  the  Pacific; 
Somewhere  within  the  Torrid  Zone, 

Where  heat  is  quite  terrific. 
'Twould  shock  you  were  I  to  declare 
The  many  things  they  did  not  wear, 
Altho'  no  doubt 
One^s  best  without 
Such  things  in  heat  terrific. 

Though  cannibals  by  birth  were  they, 

Yet,  since  they'd  first  existed. 
Their  simple  menu  day.  by  day 
Of  such-like  things  consisted: 
Omelets  of  turtle's  eggs,  and  yams. 
And  stews  from  freshly-gathered  clams, 
Such  things  as  these 
Were, — if  you  please, — 
Of  what  their  fare  consisted. 

But  after  dinner  they'd  converse, 

Nor  did  their  topic  vary; 
Wild  tales  of  gore  they  would  rehearse. 

And  talk  of  missiomjary. 
They'd  gaze  upon  each   other's  joints, 
And  indicate  the  tender  points. 
Said  one :  "  For  us 
'Tis  dangerous 
To  think  of  missionary** 

Well,  on  a  day,  upon  the  shore. 

As  flotsam,  or  as  jetsam, 
Some  wooden  cases, — ten,  or  more, — 
Were  cast  up.    "Let  us  get  some. 
And  see,  my  friend,  what  they  contain; 
The  chance  may  not  occur  again," 
Said  good   Who-zoo. 
Said   Tum-tum,   "Do; 
We'll  both  wade  out  and  get  some/* 


684  Narrative 

The  cases  held, — what  do  you  think? — 

"  Prime   Missionary — tinned." 
Nay!  gentle  reader,  do  not  shrink — 

The  man  who  made  it  sinned: 
He  thus  had  labelled  bloater-paste 
To  captivate  the  native  taste. 
He   hoped,   of   course, 
This  fraud  to  force 
On  them.  In  this  he  sinned. 

Our  simple  friends  knew  naught  of  sin; 

They  thought  that  this  confection 
Was  missionary  in   a  tin 
According  to  direction. 
For  very  joy  they  shed  salt  tears. 
"'Tis  what  we've  waited  for,  for  years," 
Said  they..    "  Hooray ! 
We'll  feast  to-day 
According  to  direction." 

"  'Tis  very  tough,"  said  one,  for  he 

The  tin  and  all  had  eaten. 
"Too  salt,"  the  other  said,  "for  me; 

The  flavour  might  be  beaten." 
It  was  enough.     Soon  each  one  swore 
He'd  missionary  eat  no  more: 

Their  tastes  were  cured,     • 
They  felt  assured 
This  flavour  might  be  beaten. 

And,  should  a  missionary  call 

To-day,   he'd   find  them   gentle, 
With  no  perverled  tastes  at  all. 

And  manners  ornamental; 
He'd  be  received,  I'm  bound  to  say, 
In  courteous  and  proper  way; 
Nor  need  he  fear 
To  taste  their  cheer 
However    ornamental. 

G.  E.  Farrow. 


The  Retired  Pork-Butcher  and  the  Spook     685 


THE  RETIKED  PORK-BUTCHER  AND  THE 
SPOOK 

I  MAY  as  well 

Proceed  to  tell 
About  a  Mister  Higgs, 

Who  grew  quite  rich 

In  trade — the  which 
Was  selling  pork  and  pigs. 

From  trade  retired, 

He  much  desired 
To  rank  with  gentlefolk, 

So  bought  a  place 

He  called  "  The  Chase," 
And  furnished  it — old  oak. 


Ancestors  got 

(Twelve  pounds  the  lot, 
In  Tottenham  Court  Road) ; 

A    pedigree — 

For  nine  pounds  three, — 
The  Heralds'  Court  bestowed. 


Within  the  hall, 

And  on  the  wall, 
Hung  armour  bright  and  strong. 

"  To  Ethelbred  "— 

The  label  read — 
"  De  Higgs,  this  did  belong." 

'Twas  gm7e  complete, 

This  country  seat, 
Yet  neighbours  stayed  away. 

Nobody  called, — 

Higgs  was  blackballed, — 
Which  caused  him  great  dismay. 


686  Narrative 

"Why  can  it  be?" 
One  night  said  he 

When  thinking  of  it  o'er. 
There  came  a  knock 
('Twas  twelve  o'clock) 

Upon   his    chamber   doori 

Higgs  cried,  "  Come  in ! '' 

A  vapour  thin 
The  keyhole  wandered  through. 

Higgs  rubbed  his  eyes 

In  mild  surprise: 
A  ghost  appeared  in  view. 

"I  beg,"  said  he, 

"You'll  pardon  me, 
In  calling  rather  late. 

A  family  ghost, 

I  seek  a  post, 
With    wage  commensurate. 

"  I^  serve  you  well ; 

My  'fiendish  yell' 
Is  certain  sure  to  please. 

*  Sepulchral  tones,' 

And  *  rattling  bones,' 
I'm  very  good  at  these. 

"  Five  bob  I  charge 

To  roam  at  large, 
With  '  clanking  chains '  ad  lib.; 

I  do  such  things 

As   '  gibberings ' 
At  one-and-three  per  gib. 

"  Or,  by  the  week, 

I  merely  seek 
Two  pounds — which  is  not  dear; 

Because  I  need, 

Of  course,  no  feed. 
No  washing,  and  no  beer." 


The  Retired  Pork-Butcher  and  the  Spook     687 

Higgs  thought  it  o'er 

A  bit,  before 
He  hired  the  family  ghost, 

But,  finally, 

He  did  agree 
To  give  to  him  the  post. 

It  got  about — 

You   know,  no  doubt. 
How  quickly  such  news  flies — 
.    Thrdlighout  the  place, 

From  "  Higgses  Chase  " 
Proceeded  ghostly  cries. 

The  rumour  spread, 

Folks  shook  their  head. 
But  dropped  in  one  by  one. 

A  bishop  came 

(Forget  his  name), 
And  then  the  thing  was  done. 

For  afterwards 

All  left  their  cards, 
"  Because,"  said  they,  "  you  see, 

One  who  can  boast 

A  family  ghost 
Respectable  must  be." 

When   it  was  due. 

The  "  ghostes's  "  screw 
Higgs  raised — as  was  but  right — 

They  often  play. 

In  friendly  way, 
A  game  of  cards  at  night. 

G.  E.  Farrow. 


688  Narrative 


SKIPPER  IRESON'S  RIDE 

Of  all  the  rides  since  the  birth  of  time, 
Told  in  story  or  sung  in  rhyme, — 
On   Apuleius's  Golden   Ass, 
Or  one-eyed  Calendar's  horse  of  brass. 
Witch  astride  of  a  human  back, 
Islam's  prophet  on  Al-Borak, — 
The  strangest  ride  that  ever  was  «ped 
Was   Ireson's,   out   from   Marblehead! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart. 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead! 


Body  of  turkey,  head  of  owl, 
Wings  a-droop  like  a  rained-on  fowl. 
Feathered  and  ruffled  in  every  part. 
Skipper  Ireson  stood  in  the  cart. 
Scores  of  women,  old  and  young, 
Strong  of  muscle,  and  glib  of  tongue. 
Pushed  and  pulled  up  the  rocky  lane. 
Shouting  and  singing  the  shrill  refrain: 
"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! " 


Wrinkled  scolds  with  hands  on  hips, 

Girls  in  bloom  of  cheek  and  lips. 

Wild-eyed,  free-limbed,  such  as  chase 

Bacchus  round  some  antique  vase, 

Brief  of  skirt,  with  ankles  bare, 

Loose  of  kerchief  and  loose  of  hair. 

With  conch-shells  blowing  and  fish-horns'  twang, 

Over  and  over  the  Maenads  sang: 

"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! " 


Skipper  Ireson's  Ride  689 

Small  pity  for  him! — He  sailed  away 

From  a  leaking  ship,  in  Chaleur  Bay, — 

Sailed  away  from  a  sinking  wreck, 

With  his  own  town's-people  on  her  deck! 

"Lay  by!  lay  by!"  they  called  to  him. 

Back  he  answered,  "  Sink  or  swim ! 

Brag  of  your  catch  of  fish  again !  " 

And  off  he  sailed  through  the  fog  and  rain! 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead! 

Fathoms  deep  in  dark  Chaleur 

That  wreck  shall  lie  forevermore. 

Mother  and  sister,  wife  and  maid. 

Looked  from  the  rocks  of  Marblehead 

Over  the  moaning  and  rainy  sea, — 

Looked  for  the  coming  that  might  not  be! 

What  did  the  winds  and  the  sea-birds  say 

Of  the  cruel  captain  who  sailed  away? — 
Old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead! 

Through  the  street,  on  either  side. 

Up  flew  windows,  doors  swung  wide; 

Sharp-tongued   spinsters,   old   wives   gray, 

Treble  lent  the  fish-horn's  bray. 

Sea-worn  grandsires,  cripple-bound. 

Hulks  of  old  sailors  run  aground, 

Shook  head,  and  fist,  and  hat,  and  cane, 

And  cracked  with  curses  the  hoarse  refrain: 
"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead ! " 

Sweetly  along  the  -Salem  road 

Bloom   of   orchard   and   lilac   showed. 

Little  the  wicked  skipper  knew 

Of  the  fields  so  green  and  the  sky  so  blue. 


690  Narrative 

Kiding  there  in  his  sorry  trim, 
Like  an  Indian  idol  glum  and  grim, 
Scarcely  he  seemed  the  sound  to  hear 
Of  voices  shouting,  far  and  near: 

"  Here's  Flud  Oirson,  fur  his  horrd  horrt, 
Torr'd  an'  futherr'd  an'  corr'd  in  a  corrt 
By  the  women  o'  Morble'ead !  " 

"Hear  me,  neighbors !"  at  last  he  cried, — 
"What  to  me  is  this  noisy  ride? 
What  is  the  shame  that  clothes  the  skin 
To  the  nameless  horror  that  lives  within? 
Waking  or  sleeping,  I  see  a  wreck, 
And  hear  a  cry  from  a  reeling  deck! 
Hate  me  and  curse  me, — I  only  dread 
The  hand  of  God  and  the  face  of  the  dead ! " 
Said  old  Floyd  Ireson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead ! 

Then  the  wife  of  the  skipper  lost  at  sea 
Said,  "God  has  touched  him!     Why  should  we?'* 
Said  an  old  wife,  mourning  her  only  son: 
"  Cut  the  rogue's  tether  and  let  him  run !  " 
So  with  soft  relentings  and  rude  excuse, 
Half  scorn,  half  pity,  they  cut  him  loose, 
And  gave  him  a  cloak  to  hide  him  in. 
And  left  him  alone  with  his  shame  and  sin. 
Poor  Floyd  Treson,  for  his  hard  heart, 
Tarred  and  feathered  and  carried  in  a  cart 
By  the  women  of  Marblehead! 

/.  G.   Whittier. 


DARIUS  GREEN  AND  HIS  FLYING-MACHINE 

If  ever  there  lived  a  Yankee  lad. 
Wise  or  otherwise,  good  or  bad. 
Who,  seeing  the  birds  fly,  didnH  jump 
With  flapping  arms  from  stake  or  stump, 

Or,  spreading  the  tail 

Of  his  coat  for  a  sail, 


Darius  Green  and  His  Flying-Machine        691 

Take  a  soaring  leap  from  post  or  rail, 

And  wonder  why 

He  couldn't  fly, 
And  flap  and  flutter  and  wish  and  try — 
If  ever  you  knew  a  country  dunce 
Who  didn't  try  that  as  often  as  once. 
All  I  can  say  is,  that's  a  sign 
He  never  would   do  for  a  hero  of  mine.  ' 

An  aspiring  genius  was  D.  Green: 

The  son  of  a  farmer,  age  fourteen; 

His  body  was  long  and  lank  and  lean — 

Just  right  for  flying,  as  will  be  seen; 

He  had  two  eyes  as  bright  as  a  bean. 

And  a  freckled  nose  that  grew  between, 

A  little  awry — for  I  must   mention 

That  he  had  riveted  his  attention 

Upon  his  wonderful  invention. 

Twisting  his  tongue  as  he  twisted  the  strings. 

And  working  his  face  as  he  worked  the  wings. 

And  with  every  turn  of  gimlet  and  screw 

Turning  and  screwing  his  mouth  round  too, 

Till  his  nose  seemed  bent 

To  catch  the  scent, 
Around  some  corner,  of  new-baked  pies, 
And  his  wrinkled  cheeks  and  his  squinting  eyes 
Grew  puckered  into  a  queer  grimace, 
That  made  him  look  very  droll  in  the  face. 

And  also  very  wJfee. 
And  wise  he  must  have  been,  to  do  more    ' 
Than  ever  a  genius  did  before, 
Excepting  Dasdalus  of  yore 
And  his  son  Icarus,  who  wore 

Upon  their  backs 

Those  wings  of  wax 
He  had  read  of  in  the  old  almanacs. 
Darius  was  clearly  of  the  opinion 
That  the  air  is  also  man's  dominion, 
And  that,  with  paddle  or  fln  or  pinion, 

We  soon  or  late  shall  navigate 
The  azure  as  now  we  sail  the  sea. 


692  Narrative 

The  thing  looks  simple  enough  to  me; 

And  if  you  doubt  it, 
Hear  how  Darius  reasoned  about  it. 

"  The  birds  can  fly  an'  why  can't  I  ? 

Must  we  give  in,"  says  he  with  a  grin. 

"  That  the  bluebird  an'  phoebe 

Are  smarter'n  we  be? 
Jest  fold  our  hands  an'  see  the  swaller 
An'  blackbird  an'  catbird  beat  us  holler? 
Doos  the  little  chatterin',  sassy  wren, 
No  bigger'n  my  thumb,  know  more  than  men? 

Just  show  me  that! 

Ur  prove  't  the  bat 
Hez  got  more  brains  than's  in  my  hat. 
An'  I'll  back  down,  an'  not  till  then ! " 
He  argued  further :  "  Nur  I  can't  see 
What's  th'  use  o'  wings  to  a  bumble-bee, 
Fur  to  git  a  livin'  with,  more'n  to  me; — 

Ain't  my  business 

Important's  his'n  is? 

That  Icarus 

Made  a  perty  muss — 
Him  an'  his  daddy  Daedalus 
They  might  'a'  knowed  wings  made  o'  wax 
Wouldn't  stand  sun-heat  an'  hard  whacks. 

I'll  make  mine  o'  luther, 

Ur  suthin'  ur  other." 

And  he  said  to  himself,  ks  he  tinkered  and  planned: 

"But  I  ain't  goin'  to  show  my  hand 

To  mummies   that  never   can  understand 

The  fust  idee  that's  big  an'  grand." 

So  he  kept  his  secret  from  all  the  rest. 

Safely  buttoned  within  his  vest; 

And  in  the  loft  above  the  shed 

Himself  he  locks,  with  thimble  and  thread 

And  wax  and  hammer  and  buckles  and  screws 

And  all  such  things  as  geniuses  use; — 

Two  bats  for  patterns,  curious  fellows! 

A  charcoal-pot  and  a  pair  of  bellows; 

Some  wire,  and  several  old  umbrellas; 


Darius  Green  and  His  Flying-Machine        693 

A  carriage-cover,  for  tail  and  wings; 

A  piece  of  harness;  and  straps  and  strings; 

And  a  big  strong  box, 

In  which  he  locks 
These  and  a  hundred  other  things. 
His  grinning  brothers,  Reuben  and  Burke 
And  Nathan  and  Jotham  and  Solomon,  lurk 
Around  the  corner  to  see  him  work — 
Sitting  cross-legged,  like  a  Turk, 
Drawing  the  waxed-end  through  with  a  jerk, 
And  boring  the  holes  with  a  comical  quirk 
Of-  his  wise  old  head,  and  a  knowing  smirk. 
But  vainly  they  mounted  each  other's  backs. 
And  poked  through  knot-holes  and  pried  through  cracks; 
With  wood  from  the  pile  and  straw  from  the  stacks 
He  plugged  the  knot-holes  and  caulked  the  cracks; 
And  a  dipper  of  water,  which  one  would  think 
He  had  brought  up  into  the  loft  to  drink 

When  he  chanced  to  be  dry, 

Stood  always  nigh. 

For  Darius  was  sly! 
And  whenever  at  work  he  happened  to  spy 
At  chink  or  crevice  a  blinking  eye, 
He  let  the  dipper  of  water  fly. 
"  Take  that !  an'  ef  ever  ye  git  a  peep. 
Guess  ye'll  ketch  a  weasel  asleep !  " 

And  he  sings  as  he  locks 

His  big  strong  box: — 


The  weasel's  head  is  small  an'  trim, 

An'  he  is  little  an'  long  an'  slim, 

An'  quick  of  motion  an'  nimble  of  limb 

An*  ef  you'll  be 

Advised  by  me. 
Keep  wide  awake  when  ye're  ketchin*  him ! " 


So  day  after  day 
He  stitched  and  tinkered  and  hammered  away, 

.  Till  at  last  'twas  done — 

The  greatest  invention  under  the  sun! 
"  An'  now,"  says  Darius,  "  hoosay  fur  some  fun !  " 


Narrative 

'Twas  the  Fourth  of  July, 

And  the  weather  was  dry, 
And  not  a  cloud  was  on  all  the  sky. 
Save  a  few  light  fleeces,  which  here  and  there, 

Half  mist,  half  air. 
Like  foam  on  the  ocean  went  floating  by — 
Just  as  lovely  a  morning  as  ever  was  seen 
For  a  nice  little  trip  in  a  flying-machine. 
Thought  cunning  Darius :  "  Now  I  shan't  go 
Along  'ith  the  fellers  to  see  the  show. 
I'll  say  I've  got  sich  a  terrible  cough! 
An'  then,  when  the  folks  'ave  all  gone  off,  '  . 

I'll  hev  full  swing  fur  to  try  the  thing. 
An'  practise  a  little  on  the  wing." 
"  Ain't  goin'  to  see  the  celebration  ? " 
Says  brother  Nate.     "No;  botheration! 
I've  got  sich  a  cold — a  toothache — I — 
My  gracious ! — feel's  though  I  should  fly !  " 

Said  Jotham,  "Sho! 

Guess  ye  better  go." 

But  Darius  said,  "  No ! 
Shouldn't  wonder  'f  you  might  see  me,  though, 
'Long  'bout  noon,  ef  I  git  red 
O'  this  jumpin',  thumpin'  pain  'n  my  head." 
For  all  the  while  to  himself  he  said: — 

"I  tell  ye  what! 
I'll  fly  a  few  times  around  the  lot, 
To  see  how  't  seems,  then  soon's  I've  got 
The  hang  o'  the  thing,  ez  likely's  not, 

I'll  astonish  the  nation, 

An'  all  creation, 
By  flyin'  over  the  celebration! 
Over  their  heads  I'll  sail  like  an  eagle; 
I'll  balance  myself  on  my  wings  like  a  sea-gull: 
I'll  dance  on  the  chimbleys;  I'll  stand  on  the  steeple; 
I'll  flop  up  to  winders  an'  scare  the  people! 
I'll  light  on  the  liberty-pole,  an'  crow; 
An'  I'll  say  to  the  gawpin'  fools  below, 

*What  world's  this  'ere 

That  I've  come  near  ? ' 


Darius  Green  and  His  Flying-Machine        695 

Fur  I'll  make  'em  b'lieve  I'm  a  chap  f 'm  the  moon ; 
An'  I'll  try  to  race  'ith  their  ol'  balloon ! " 

He  crept  from  his  bed; 
And,  seeing  the  others  were  gone,  he  said, 
"  I'm  gittin'   over  the  cold   'n   my  head." 

And  away  he  sped. 
To  open  the  wonderful  box  in  the  shed. 

His  brothers  had  walked  but  a  little  way. 

When  Jotham  to  Nathan  chanced  to  say, 

"  What  is  the  feller  up  to,  hey ! " 

"Don'o' — the  's  suthin'  ur  other  to  pay, 

Ur  he  wouldn't  'a'  stayed  tu  hum  to-day." 

Says  Burke,  "His  toothache's  all  'n  his  eye! 

He  never  'd  missed  a  Fo'th-o'-July, 

Ef  he  hedn't  got  some  machine  to  try." 

Then  Sol,  the  little  one,  spoke:  "By  darn! 

Le's  hurry  back  an'  hide  'n  the  barn, 

An'  pay  him  fur  tellin'  us  that  yarn !  " 

"  Agreed !  "     Through  the  orchard  they  creep  back 

Along  by  the  fences,  behind  the  stack, 

And  one  by  one,  through  a  hole  in  the  wall. 

In  under  the  dusty  barn  they  crawl,  % 

Dressed  in  their  Sunday  garments  all; 

And  a  very  astonishing  sight  was  that, 

When  each  in  his  cobwebbed  coat  and  hat 

Came  up  through  the  floor  like  an  ancient  rat 

And  there  they  hid; 

And  Reuben  slid 
The  fastenings  back,  and  the  door  undid. 

"Keep  dark!"  said, he, 
"While  I  squint  an'  see  what  the'  is  to  see." 

As  knights  of  old  put  on  their  mail — 

From  head  to  foot  an  iron  suit 

Iron  jacket  and   iron  boot. 

Iron  breeches,  and  on  the  head 

No  hat,  but  an  iron  pot  instead. 

And  under  the  chin  the  bail, 

(I  believe  they  called  the  thing  a  helm,) 

Then  sallied  forth  to  overwhelm 


696  Narrative 

The  dragons  and  pagans  that  plagued  the  earth 

So  this  modem  knight 

Prepared  for  flight, 
Put  on  his  wings  and  strapped  them  tight 
Jointed  and  jaunty,  strong  and  light — 
Buckled  them  fast  to  shoulder  and  hip; 
Ten  feet  they  measured  from  tip  to  tip 
And  a  helm  had  he,  but  that  he  wore, 
Not  on  his  head,  like  those  of  yore, 

But  more  like  the  helm  of  a  ship. 

"Hush!"  Keuben  said, 

"He's  up  in  the  shed! 
He's  opened  the  winder — I  see  his  head! 
He  stretches  it  out,  an'  pokes  it  about, 
Lookin'  to  see  'f  the  coast  is  clear, 

An'  nobody  near; — 
Guess  he  don'  o'  who's  hid  in  here! 
He's  riggin'  a  spring-board  over  the  sill! 
Stop  laffin',  Solomon!     Burke,  keep  still! 
He's  a  climbin'  out  now — Of  all  the  things! 
What's  he  got  on?    I  vum,  it's  wings! 
^'  that  'tother  thing?     I  vum,  it's  a  tail! 
An'  there  he  sits  like  a  hawk  on  a  rail! 
Steppin'  careful,  he  travels  the  length 
Of  his  spring-board,  and  teeters  to  try  its  strength. 
Now  he  stretches  his  wings,  like  a  monstrous  bat; 
Peeks  over  his  shoulder;  this  way  an'  that. 
Fur  to  see  'f  the'  's  any  one  passin'  by; 
But  the'  's  on'y  a  caf  an'  goslin  nigh. 
They  turn  up  at  him  a  wonderin'  eye, 
To  see —     The  dragon!  he's  goin'  to  fly! 
Away  he  goes!    Jimminy!  what  a  jump! 

Flop — flop — an'  plump 

To  the  ground  with  a  thump! 
Flutt'rin'  an'  flound'rin'  all  'n  a  lump!" 

As  a  demon  is  hurled  by  an  angel's  spear. 
Heels  over  head,  to  his  proper  sphere — 
Heels  over  head,  and  head  over  heels, 
Dizzily  down  the  abyss  he  wheels — 


A  Great  Fight  697 

So  fell  Darius.     Upon  his  crown, 

In  the  midst  of  the  barn-yard,  he  came  down, 

In  a  wonderful  whirl  of  tangled  strings, 

Broken  braces  and  broken  springs. 

Broken  tail  and  broken  wings, 

Shooting-stars,  and  various  things; 

Barn-yard  litter  of  straw  and  chaff, 

And  much  that  wasn't  so  sweet  by  half. 

Away  with  a  bellow  fled  the  calf, 

And  what  was  that?    Did  the  gosling,  laugh ? 

'Tis  a  merry  roar  from  the  old  barn-door. 

And  he  hears  the  voice  of  Jotham  crying, 

"Say,  D'rius!  how  do  you  like  flyin'?" 

Slowly,  ruefully,  where  he  lay, 

Darius  just  turned  and  looked  that  way, 

As  he  stanched  his  sorrowful  nose  with  'his  cuff. 

"Wal,  I  like  flyin'  well  enough," 

He  said;  "but  the'  ain't  such  a  thunderin'  sight 

O'  fun  in  't  when  ye  come  to  light." 


I  just  have  room  for  the  moral  here: 
And  this  is  the  moral — Stick  to  your  sphere. 
Or  if  you  insist,  as  you  have  the  right. 
On  spreading  your  wings  for  a  loftier  flight. 
The  moral  is — Take  care  how  you  light. 

John  Townsend  Trowbridge. 


A  GREAT  FIGHT 

"  There  was  a  man  in  Arkansaw 
As  let  his  passions  rise. 

And  not  unfrequently  picked  out 
Some  other  varmint's  eyes. 


'His  name  was  Tuscaloosa  Sam 
And  often  he  would  say. 

There's  not  a  cuss  in  Arkansaw 
I  can't  whip  any  day.' 


698  Narrative 

"  One  morn,  a  stranger  passin'  by. 

Heard  Sammy  talkin'  so. 
And  down  he  scrambled  from  his  hoss, 

And  oflF  his  coat  did  go. 

"He  sorter  kinder  shut  one  eye. 

And  spit  into  his  hand, 
And  put  his  ugly  head  one  side, 

And  twitched  his  trowsers'  band. 

" '  My  boy,'  says  he,  '  it's  my  belief, 

Whomever  you  may  be. 
That  I  kin  make  you  screech,  and  smell 

Pertiklor  agony.' 

"  *  I'm  thar,'  said  Tuscaloosa  Sam, 

And  chucked  his  hat  away; 
*  I'm  thar,'  says  he,   and  buttoned  up 

As  far  as  buttons  may. 

"He  thundered  on  the  stranger's  mug, 

The  stranger  pounded  he ; 
And  oh!  the  way  them  critters  fit 

Was  beautiful  to  see. 

"  They  clinched  like  two  rampageous  bears. 
And  then  went  down  a  bit; 

They  swore  a  stream   of  six-inch  oaths 
And  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit. 

"  When   Sam  would  try  to  work  away, 

And   on  his  pegs  to  git, 
The  stranger'd  pull  him  back;  and  so, 

They  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit! 

"  Then  like  a  pair  of  lobsters,  both 
Upon  the  ground  were  knit, 

And  yet  the  varmints  used  their  teeth, 
And  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  I 


A  Great  Fight  699 

"  The  sun  of  noon  was  high  above, 

And  hot  enough  to  split, 
But  only  riled  the  fellers  more, 

That  fit,*  and  fit,  and  fit!  !  ! 

"  The  stranger  snapped  at  Samy's  nose, 

And  shortened  it  a  bit; 
And  then  they  both  swore  awful  hard, 

And  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !  !  ! 

"  The  mud  it  flew,  the  sky  grew  dark. 

And   all   the  litenins  lit; 
But  still  them  critters  rolled  about. 

And  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !  !  !  ! 

"First  Sam  on  top,  then  t'other  chap; 

WTien.  one  would  make  a  hit, 
The  otherM  smell  the  grass;  and  so 

They  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !  !  !  !  I 

"  The  night  came  on,  the  stars  shone  out 

As  bright  as  wimmen's  wit; 
And  still  them  fellers   swore  and  gouged. 

And  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !  !  !  !  !  ! 

"  The  neighbours  heard  the  noise  they  made. 

And  thought  an  earthquake  lit; 
Yet  all  the  while  Hwas  him  and  Sam 

As  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !!!!!!  ! 

"For  miles  around  the  noise  was  heard; 

Folks   couldn't  sleep   a   bit, 
Because  them  two  rantankerous  chaps 

Still  fit,  and  fit,  and  fit!  !!!!!!!  ! 

"But  jist  at  cock-crow,  suddenly. 

There  came  an  awful  pause. 
And  T  and  my  old  man  run  out 

To  ascertain  the  cause. 


700  Narrative 

**  The  sun  was  rising  in  the  yeast, 

And  lit  the  hull  concern; 
But  not  a  sign  of  either  chap 

Was  found  at  any  turn. 

"Yet,  in  the  region  where  they  fit, 

We  found,  to  our  surprise, 
One  pint  of  buttons,  two  big  knives. 

Some  whiskers,  and  four  eyes ! " 

Robert  Henry  Newell. 


THE  DONNYBEOOK  JIG 

Oh!   'twas  Dermot  O'Nolan   M'Figg, 
That  could  properly  Jiandle  a  twig. 

He  wint  to  the  fair,  and  kicked  up  a  dust  there, 
In  dancing  a  Donnybrook  jig — with  his  twig.^ 
Oh!  my  blessing  to  Dermot  M'Figg. 

Whin  he  came  to  the  midst  of  the  fair. 
He  was  all  in  a  paugh  for  fresh  air. 

For  the  fair  very  soon,  was  as  full — as  the  moon. 
Such  mobs  upon  mobs  as  were  there,  oh  rare! 
So  more  luck  to  sweet  Donnybrook  Fair. 

But  Dermot,  his  mind  on  love  bent, 
In  search  of  his  sweetheart  he  went, 

Peep'd  in  here  and  there,  as  he  walked  through  the  fair. 
And  took  a  small  drop  in  each  tent — as  he  went, — 
Oh !  on  whisky  and  love  he  was  bent. 

And  who  should  he  spy  in  a  jig, 
With  a  meal-man  so  tall  and  so  big. 

But  his  own  darling  Kate,  so  gay  and  so  nate? 
Faith!  her  partner  he  hit  him  a  dig — the  pig. 
He  beat  the  meal  out  of  his  wig. 

The  piper,  to  keep  him  in  tune, 
Struck  up  a  gay  lilt  very  soon; 
Until  an  arch  wag  cut  a  hole  in  the  bag. 


The  Donnybrook  Jig  701 

And  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  tune — too  soon — 
Och!  the  music  flew  up  to  the  moon. 

The  meal-man  he  looked  very  shy, 
While  a  great  big  tear  stood  in  his  eye, 

He  cried,  "  Lord,  how  I'm  kilt,  all  alone  for  that  jilt; 
With  her  may  the  devil  fly  high  in  the  sky, 
For  I'm  murdered,  and  don't  know  for  why." 

"  Oh ! "  says  Dermot,  and  he  in  the  dance. 
Whilst  a  step  to'ards  his  foe  did  advance, 

"  By  the  Father  of  Men,  say  but  that  word  again, 
And  I'll  soon  knock  you  back  in  a  trance — to  your  dance, 
For  with  me  you'd  have  but  small  chance." 

"  But,"  says  Kitty,  the  darlint,  says  she, 
"If  you'll  only  just  listen  to  me. 

It's  myself  that  will  show  that  he  can't  be  your  foe, 
Though  he  fought  for  his  cousin — that's  me,"  says  she, 
"For  sure  Billy's  related  to  me. 

"  For  my  own  cousin-jarmin,  Anne  Wild, 
Stood  for  Biddy  Mulroony's  first  child; 

And  Biddy's  step-son,  sure  he  married  Bess  Dunn, 
Who  was  gossip  to  Jenny,  as  mild  a  child 
As  ever  at  mother's  breast  smiled. 

"  And  may  be  you  don't  know  Jane  Brown, 

Who  served  goat's-whey  in  Dundrum's  sweet  town? 

'Twas  her  uncle's  half-brother,  who  married  my  mother, 
And  bought  me  this  new  yellow  gown,  to  go  down 
When  the  marriage  was  held  in  Milltown." 

"  By  the  powers,  then,"  says  Dermot,  "  'tis  plain, 
Like  the  son  of  that  rapscallion  Cain, 

My  best  friend  I  have  kilt,  though  no  blood  is  spilt, 
But  the  devil  a  harm  did  I  mane — that's  plain; 
And  by  me  he'll  be  ne'er  kilt  again." 

Viscount  Dillon. 


702  Narrative 

UNFOKTUNATE  MISS  BAILEY 

A  CAPTAIN  bold  from  Halifax  who  dwelt  in  country  quarters, 
Betrayed  a  maid  who  hanged  herself  one  morning  in  her 

Garters. 
His   wicked   conscience   smited   him,   he   lost   his    Stomach 

daily,    • 
And  took  to  drinking  Ratafia  while  thinking  of  Miss  Bailey. 


One  night  betimes  he  went  to  bed,  for  he  had  caught  a 

Fever ; 
Says  he,  "  I  am  a  handsome  man,  but  I'm  a  gay  Deceiver." 
His  candle  just  at  twelve  o'clock  began  to  burn  quite  palely, 
A  Ghost  stepped  up  to  his  bedside  and  said  "  Behold  Miss 

Bailey!" 


*'  Avaunt,  Miss  Bailey ! "  then  he  cries,  "  your  Face  looks 

while  and  mealy." 
"  Dear  Captain  Smith,"  the  ghost  replied,  "  you've  used  me 

ungenteelly; 
The  Crowner's  'Quest  goes  hard  with  me  because  I've  acted 

frailly. 
And  Parson  Biggs  won't  bury  me  though  I  am  dead  Miss 

Bailey." 


"  Dear  Corpse ! "  said  he,  "  since  you  and  I  accounts  must 
once  for  all  close, 

There  really  is  a  one  pound  note  in  my  regimental  Small- 
clothes ; 

I'll  bribe  the  sexton  for  your  grave."     The  ghost  then  van- 
ished gaily 

Crying  "  Bless  you,  Wicked  Captain  Smith,  Remember  poor 
Miss  Bailey." 

Unknown. 


The  Laird  o'  Cockpen  703 

THE  LAIKD  O'  COCKPEN 
The  last  two  stanzas  were  added  by  Miss  Ferrier. 

The  Laird  o'  Cockpen,  he's  proud  and  he's  great; 
His  mind  is  ta'en  up  wi'  the  things  o'  the  state; 
He  wanted  a  wife  his  braw  house  to  keep; 
But  favour  wi'  wooin'  was  fashions  to  seek. 

Doun  by  the  dyke-side  a  lady  did  dwell. 
At  his  table-head  he  thought  she'd  look  well 
M'Clish's  ae  daughter  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee — 
A  pennyless  lass  wi'  a  lang  pedigree. 

His  wig  was  well-pouther'd,  as  guid  as  when  new. 
His  waistcoat  was  white,  his  coat  it  was  blue: 
He  put  on  a  ring,  a  sword,  and  cock'd  hat — 
And  wha  could  refuse  the  Laird  wi'  a'  that? 

He  took  the  grey  mare,  and  rade  cannilie — 
And  rapped  at  the  yett  o'  Claverse-ha'  Lee; 
"  Gae  tell  mistress  Jean  to  come  speedily  ben : 
She's  wanted  to  speak  wi'  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

Mistress  Jean  she  was  makin'  the  elder-flower  wine; 
"And  what  brings  the  Laird  at  sic  a  like  time?" 
She  put  off  her  apron,  and  on  her  silk  gown. 
Her  mutch  wi'  red  ribbons,  and  gaed  awa'  down. 

And  when  she  cam'  ben,  he  boued  fu'  low; 
And  what  was  his  errand  he  soon  let  her  know. 
Amazed  was  the  Laird  when  the  lady  said,  Na, 
And  wi'  a  laigh  curtsie  she  turned  awa'. 

Dumfounder'd  he  was,  but  nae  sigh  did  he  gi'e; 
He  mounted  his  mare,  and  rade  cannilie; 
And  aften  he  thought,  as  he  gaed  through  the  glen, 
"  She's  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 


704  Narrative 

And  now  that  the  Laird  his  exit  had  made, 
Mistress  Jean  she  reflected  on  what  she  had  said; 
"  Oh !  for  ane  I'll  get  better,  it's  waur  I'll  get  ten — 
I  was  daft  to  refuse  the  Laird  o'  Cockpen." 

Neist  time  that  the  Laird  and  the  Lady  were  seen. 
They  were  gaun  arm  and  arm  to  the  kirk  on  the  green; 
Now  she  sits  in  the  ha'  like  a  weel-tappit  hen, 
But  as  yet  there's  nae  chickens  appeared  at  Cockpen. 

Lady  Nairne. 


A  WEDDING 

I  TELL  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  been; 
Where  I  the  rarest  things  have  seen; 

Oh,  things  without  compare! 
Such  sights  again  can  not  be  found 

In  any  place  on  English  ground, 

Be  it  at  wake  or  fair. 

At  Charing  Cross,  hard  by  the  way 
Where  we  (thou  know'st)  do  sell  our  hay. 

There  is  a  house  with  stairs; 
And  there  did  I  see  copiing  down 
Such  folks  as  are  not  in  our  town; 

Vorty  at  least,  in  pairs. 

Amongst  the  rest  one  pest'lent  fine 
(His  beard  no  bigger  tho'  than  thine) 

Walk'd  on  before  the  rest; 
Our  landlord  looks  like  nothing  to  him; 
The  King  (God  bless  him!)  'twould  undo  him 

Should. he  go  still  so  drest. 

At  Course-a-park,  without  all  doubt, 
He  should  have  first  been  taken  out 

By  all  the  maids  i'  th'  town: 
Though  lusty  Roger  there  had  been. 
Or  little  George  upon  the  green. 

Or  Vincent  of  the  crown. 


A  Wedding  706 

But  wot  you  what?    The  youth  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  woing; 

The  parson  for  him  staid: 
Yet  by  his  leave,  for  all  his  haste, 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past, 

Perchance   as   did   the  maid. 

The  maid  (and  thereby  hangs  a  tale) 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitson-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce; 
No  grape  that's  kindly  ripe,  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft,  as  she 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juyce. 

Her  finger  was  so  small,  the  ring 
Would  not  stay  on  which  they  did  bring; 

It  was  too  wide  a  peck : 
And,  to  say  truth  (for  out  it  must), 
It  look'd  like  the  great  collar  (just) 

About  our  young  colt's  neck. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat. 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out. 

As  if  they  fear'd  the  light: 
But  oh !  she  dances  such  a  way ; 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter  day 

Is  half  so  fine  a  sight. 

Her  cheeks  so  rare  a  white  was  on, 
No  daisie  makes  comparison 

(Who  sees  them  is  undone) ; 
For  streaks  of  red  were  mingled  there. 
Such  as  are  on  a  Cath'rine  pear. 

The  side  that's  next  the  Sun. 

Her  lips  were  red;  and  one  was  thin. 
Compared  to  that  was  next  her  chin 

(Some  bee  had  stung  it  newly) ; 
But,  Dick,  her  eyes  so  guard  her  face, 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze, 

Than  on  a  Sun  in  July. 


706  Narrative 

Her  mouth  so  small,  when  she  does  speak, 
Thou'dst  swear  her  teeth  her  words  did  break, 

That  they  might  passage  get; 
But  she  so  handled  still  the  matter. 
They  came  as  good  as  ours,  or  better, 

And  are  not  spent  a  whit. 

Passion,  oh  me!  how  I  run  on! 

There's  that  that  would  be  thought  upon, 

I  trow,  besides  the  bride. 
The  business  of  the  kitchen's  great; 
For  it  is  fit  that  men  should  eat. 

Nor  was  it  there  denied. 

Just  in  the  nick  the  Cook  knock'd  thrice, 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 

His  summons  did  obey; 
Each  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand, 
March'd  boldly  up  like  our  train'd  band. 

Presented,  and  away. 

When  all  the  meat  was  on  the  table, 
What  man  of  knife,  or  teeth,  was  able 

To  stay  to  be  entreated? 
And  this  the  very  reason  was. 
Before  the  parson  could  say  grace 

The  company  was  seated. 

Now  hats  fly  off,  and  youths  carouse; 
Healths  first  go  round,  and  then  the  house, 

The  bride's  came  thick  and  thick; 
And  when  'twas  named  another's  health. 
Perhaps  he  made  it  hers  by  stealth, 

(And  who  could  help  it,  Dick?) 

O'  th'  sudden,  up  they  rise  and  dance; 
Then  sit  again,  and  sigh,  and  glance: 

Then  dance  again,  and  kiss : 
Thus  sev'ral  ways  the  time  did  pass. 
Till  ev'ry  woman  wish'd  her  place. 

And  ev'ry  man  wish'd  his. 


I 


A  Wedding  707 

By  this  time  all  were  stoPn  aside 
To  counsel  and  undress  the  bride; 

But  that  he  must  not  know : 
But  yet  'twas  thought  he  guest  her  mind, 
And  did  not  mean  to  stay  behind 

Above  an  hour  or  so. 

Sir  John  Suckling. 


XI 

TRIBUTE 

THE  AHKOND  OF  SWAT 

Who,  or  why,  or  which,  or  what, 

Is  the  Ahkond  of  Swat? 


Is  he  tall  or  short,  or  dark  or  fair? 
Does  he  sit  on  a  stool  or  sofa  or  chair,  or  Squat, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 


Is  he  wise  or  foolish,  young  or  old? 
Does  he  drink  his  soup  and  his  coffee  cold,  or  Hot, 

The   Ahkond  of   Swat? 


Does  he  sing  or  whistle,  jabber  or  talk, 

And  when  riding  abroad  does  he  gallop  or  walk, 

or  Trot, 
The   Ahkond  of   Swat? 


Does  he  wear  a  turban,  a  fez,  or  a  hat? 
Does  he  sleep  on  a  mattress,  a  bed  or  a  mat,      or  a  Cot, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

When  he  writes  a  copy  in  round-hand  size, 
Does  he  cross  his  t's  and  finish  his  i's  with  a  Dot, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Can  he  write  a  letter  concisely  clear, 
Without  a  speck  or  a  smudge  or  smear  or  a  Blot, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 
708 


The  Ahkond  of  Swat  709 

Do  his  people  like  him  extremely  well? 
Or  do  they,  whenever  they  can,  rebel,  or  Plot, 

At  the  Ahkond  of  Swat  ? 

If  he  catches  them  then,  either  old  or  young. 
Does  he  have  them  chopped  in  pieces  or  hung, 

or  Shot, 
The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Do  his  people  prig  in  the  lanes  or  park? 
Or  even  at  times,  when  days  are  dark.  Garotte? 

Oh,  the  Ahkond  of  Swat? 

Does  he  study  the  wants  of  his  own  dominion  ? 
Or  doesn't  he  care  for  public  opinion  a  Jot, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

To  amuse  his  mind  do  his  people  show  him 
Pictures,  or  any  one's  last  new  poem,  or  What, 

For  the  Ahkond  of  Swat? 

At  night  if  he  suddenly  screams  and  wakes, 
Do  they  bring  him  only  a  few  small  cakes,        or  a  Lot, 

For  the  Ahkond  of  Swat? 

Does  he  live  on  turnips,  tea  or  tripe, 

Does  he  like  his  shawl  to  be  marked  with  a  stripe 

or  a  Dot, 
The   Ahkond   of   Swat? 

Does  he  like  to  lie  on  his  back  in  a  boat 
Like  the  lady  who  lived  in  that  isle  remote,       Shalott. 

The  Ahkond   of   Swat? 

Is  he  quiet,  or  always  making  a  fuss  ? 

Is  his  steward  a  Swiss  or  a  Swede  or  a  Russ, 

or  a  Scot, 
The  Ahkond  of  Swat? 


710  Tribute 

Does  he  like  to  sit  by  the  calm  blue  wave? 
Or  to  sleep  and  snore  in  a  dark  green  cave,    or  a  Grott, 

The   Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Does  he  drink  small  beer  from  a  silver  jug? 
Or  a  bowl  ?  or  a  glass  ?  or  a  cup  ?  or  a  mug  ? 

or  a  Pot, 
The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Does  he  beat  his  wife  with  a  gold-topped  pipe, 
When  she  lets  the  gooseberries  grow  too  ripe,      or  Rot, 

The  Ahkond  of  Swat? 

Does  he  wear  a  white  tie  when  he  dines  with  his  friends. 
And  tie  it  neat  in  a  bow  with  ends,  or  a  Knot, 

The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Does  he  like  new  cream,  and  hate  mince-pies? 
When  he  looks  at  the  sun  does  he  wink  his  eyes, 

or  Not, 
The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Does  he  teach  his  subjects  to  roast  and  bake  ? 
Does  he  sail  about  on  an  inland  lake,  in  a  Yacht, 

I  The  Ahkond  of   Swat? 

Some  one,  or  nobody  knows  I  wot 
Who  or  which  or  why  or  what 

Is  the  Ahkond  of  Swat  1 
Edward  Lear. 


THE  AHKOOND  OF  SWAT 

The  Ahkoond  of  Swat  is  dead." — London  Papers  of 
Jan.  22,  1878. 

What,  what,  what. 

What's  the  news  from  Swat? 

Sad  news, 

Bad  news. 
Comes  by  the  cable  led 


The  Ahkoond  of  Swat  711 

Through  the  Indian  Ocean's  bed, 
Through  the  Persian  Gulf,  the  Red 
Sea  and  the  Med- 
iterranean— he's  dead; 
The  Ahkoond  is  dead! 

For  the  Ahkoond  I  mourn, 

Who  wouldn't? 
He  strove  to  disregard  the  message  stern. 

But  he  Ahkoodn't. 
Dead,  dead,  dead : 

(Sorrow,  Swats!) 
Swats  wha  hae  wi'  Ahkoond  bled. 
Swats  whom  he  hath  often  led 
Onward  to  a  gory  bed, 

Or  to  victory, 

As  the  case  might  be. 
Sorrow,  Swats! 
Tears  shed. 

Shed  tears  like  water. 
Your  great  Ahkoond  is  dead! 

That  Swats  the  matter! 

Mourn,  city  of  Swat, 

Your  great  Ahkoond  is  not. 

But  laid  'mid  worms  to  rot. 

His  mortal  part  alone,  his  soul  was  caught 

(Because  he  was  a  good  Ahkoond) 

Up  to  the  bosom  of  Mahound. 
Though  earthly  walls  his  frame  surround 
(Forever  hallowed  by  the  ground!) 

And  skeptics  mock  the  lowly  mound 
And  say  "  He's  now  of  no  Ahkoond !  " 

His  soul  is  in  the  skies — 
The  azure  skies  that  bend  above  his  loved 
Metropolis  of  Swat. 
He  sees  with  larger,  other  eyes. 
Athwart  all  earthly  mysteries — 
He  knows  what's  Swat. 


712  Tribute 

Let  Swat  bury  the  great  Ahkoond 

With  a  noise  of  mourning  and  of  lamentation ! 
Let  Swat  bury  the  great  Ahkoond 

With  the  noise  of  the  mourning  of  the  Swattish  nation ! 

Fallen  is  at  length 

Its  tower  of  strength ; 

Its  sun  is  dimmed  ere  it  had  nooned ; 

Dead  lies  the  great  Ahkoond, 

The  great  Ahkoond  of  Swat 


Is  not! 


Georg-e  Thomas  Lanigan. 


DIRGE  OF  THE  MOOLLA  OF  KOTAL, 

RIVAL  OF  THE  AKHOOND  OF  SWAT 


Alas,  unhappy  land;  ill-fated  spot 
Kotal — though  where  or  what 
On  earth  Kotal  is,  the  bard  has  forgot; 
Further  than  thisjndeed  he  knoweth  not- 
It  borders  upon  Swat ! 


When  sorrows  come,  they  come  not  single  spies, 

But  in  battal- 
ions :  the  gloom  that  lay  on  Swat  now  lies 

Upon  Kotal, 
On  sad  Kotal  whose  people  ululate 
For  their  loved  Moolla  late. 
Put  away  his  little  turban. 
And  his  narghileh  embrowned. 
The  lord  of  Kotal — rural  urban — 
'S  gone  unto  his  last  Akhoond, 
'S  gone  to  meet  his  rival  Swattan, 
'S  gone,  indeed,  but  not  forgotten. 


Dirge  of  the  Moolla  of  Kotal  713 

HI 

His  rival,  but  in  what? 

Wherein  did  the  deceased  Akhoond  of  Swat 

Kotal's  lamented  Moolla  late, 

As  it  were,  emulate? 

Was  it  in  the  tented  field 

With  crash  of  sword  on  shield. 

While  backward  meaner  champions  reeled 

And  loud  the  tom-tom  pealed? 

Did  they  barter  gash  for  scar 

With  the  Persian  scimetar 

Or  the  Afghan istee  tulwar. 

While  loud  the  tom-tom  pealed — 

While  loud  the  tom-tom  pealed. 

And  the  jim-jam  squealed. 

And  champions  less  well  heeled 

Their  war-horses  wheeled 

And  fled  the  presence  of  these  mortal  big  bugs  o'  the  field  ? 

Was  KotaPs  proud  citadel — 

Bastioned,  walled,  and  demi-luned, 

Beaten  down  with  shot  and  shell 

By  the  guns  of  the  Akhoond? 

Or  were  wails  despairing  caught,  as 

The  burghers  pale  of  Swat 

Cried  in  panic,  "  Moolla  ad  Portas  ? " 

—Or  what? 
Or  made  each  in  the  cabinet  his  mark 
Kotalese  Gortschakoff,  Swattish  Bismarck? 
Did  they  explain  and  render  hazier 
The  policies-  of  Central  Asia  ? 
Did  they  with  speeches  from  the  throne. 

Wars  djTiastic, 
Entents  cordiales. 
Between  Swat  and  Kotal; 
Holy  alliances, 
And  other  appliances 

Of  statesmen  with  morals  and  consciences  plastic 
Come  by  much  more  than  their  own? 
Made  they  mots,  as  "  There  to-day  is 
No  more  Himalayehs," 


714  Tribute 

Or,  if  you  prefer  it,  "  There  to-day  are 

No  more  Himalaya  ?  " 

Or,  said  the  Akhoond,  "  Sah, 

L'Etat  de  Swat  c'est  moi  ?  " 

Khabu,  did  there  come  great  fear 

On  thy  Khabuldozed  Ameer 

Ali  Shere?  ' 

Or  did  the  Khan  of  far 

Kashgar 
Tremble  at  the  menace  hot 
Of  the  MooUa  of  Kotal, 
"  I  will  extirpate  thee,  pal 
Of  my  foe  the  Akhoond  of  Swat?" 

Who  knows 
Of  Moolla  and  Akhoond  aught  more  than  I  did? 
Namely,  in  life  they  rivals  were,  or  foes, 
And  in  their  deaths  not  very  much  divided? 
If  any  one  knows  it, 


Let  him  disclose  it ! 


George  Thomas  Lanigan. 


THE  BALLAD     OF  BOUILLABAISSE 

A  STREET  there  is  in  Paris  famous. 

For  which  no  rhyme  our  language  yields. 
Rue  Neuve  des  Petits  Champs  its  name  is — 

The  New  Street  of  the  Little  Fields. 
And  here's  an  inn,  not  rich  and  splendid, 

But  still  in  comfortable  case; 
The  which  in  youth  I  oft  attended, 

To  eat  a  bowl  of  Bouillabaisse. 

This  Bouillabaisse  a  noble  dish  is — 

A  sort  of  soup,  or  broth,  or  brew, 
Or  hotchpotch  of  all  sorts  of  fishes, 

That  Greenwich  never  could  outdo: 
Green  herbs,  red  peppers,  mussels,  saffron. 

Soles,  onions,  garlic,  roach,  and  dace: 
All  these  you  eat  at  Terre's  tavern 

In  that  one  dish  of  Bouillabaisse. 


The  Ballad  of  Bouillabaisse  715 

Indeed,  a  rich  and  savoury  stew  'tis; 

And  true  philosophers,  methinks. 
Who  love  all  sorts  of  natural  beauties. 

Should  love  good  victuals  and  good  drinks. 
And  Cordelier  or  Benedictine 

Might  gladly,  sure,  his  lot  embrace, 
Nor  find  a  fast-day  too  afflicting, 

Which  served  him  up  a  Bouillabaisse. 

I  wonder  if  the  house  still  there  is? 

Yes,  here  the  lamp  is,  as  before ; 
The  smiling  red-cheeked  ecaillere  is 

Still  opening  oysters  at  the  door. 
Is  Terre  still  alive  and  able? 

I  recollect  his  droll  grimace: 
He'd  come  and  smile  before  your  table, 

And  hope  you  liked  your  Bouillabaisse. 

We  enter — nothing's  changed  or  older. 

"  How's  Monsieur  Terre,  waiter,  pray  ? " 
The  waiter  stares,  and  shrugs  his  shoulder — 

"  Monsieur  is  dead  this  many  a  day." 
"  It  is  the  lot  of  saint  and  sinner. 

So  honest  Terre's  run  his  race." 
"What  will  Monsieur  require  for  dinner?" 

"  Say,  do  you  still  cook  Bouillabaisse  ? " 

"Oh,  oui.  Monsieur,"  's  the  waiter's  answer; 

"Quel  vin  Monsieur  desire-t-il? " 
"  Tell  me  a  good  one."—"  That  I  can.  Sir: 

The  Chambertin  with  yellow  seal." 
"  So  Terre's  gone,"  I  say,  and  sink  in 

My  old  accustom'd  corner-place; 
"  He's  done  with  feasting  and  with  drinking, 

With  Burgundy  and  with  Bouillabaisse." 

My  old  accustom'd  corner  here  is. 

The  table  still  is  in  the  nook ; 
Ah!  vanished  many  a  busy  year  is 

This  well-known  chair  since  last  I  took. 


716  Tribute 

When  first  I  saw  ye,  carl  luoghi, 

I'd  scarce  a  beard  upon  my  face, 
And  now  a  grizzled,  grim  old  fogy, 

I  sit  and  wait  for  Bouillabaisse. 

Where  are  you,  old  companions  trusty 

Of  early  days  here  met  to  dine? 
Come,  waiter!  quick,  a  flagon  crusty — 
.     I'll  pledge  them  in  the  good  old  wine» 
The  kind  old  voices  and  old  faces 

My  memory  can  quick  retrace; 
Around  the  board  they  take  their  places, 

And  share  the  wine  and  Bouillabaisse. 

There's  Jack  has  made  a  wondrous  marriage; 

There's  laughing  Tom  is  laughing  yet; 
There's  brave  Augustus  drives  his  carriage; 

There's  poor  old  Fred  in  the  Gazette; 
On  James's  head  the  grass  is  growing: 

Good  Lord!  the  world  has  wagged  apace 
Since  here  we  set  the  claret  flowing, 

And  drank,  and  ate  the  Bouillabaisse. 

Ah  me!  how  quick  the  days  are  flitting! 

I  mind  me  of  a  time  that's  gone, 
When  here  I'd  sit,  as  now  I'm  sitting, 

In  this  same  place — but  not  alone. 
A  fair  young  form  was  nestled  near  me, 

A  dear  dear  face  looked  fondly  up, 
And  sweetly  spoke  and  smiled  to  cheer  me 

— There's  no  one  now  to  share  my  cup. 

I  drink  it  as  the  Fates  ordain  it. 

Come,  fill  it,  and  have  done  with  rhymes : 
Fill  up  the  lonely  glass,  and  drain  it 

In  memory  of  dear  old  times. 
Welcome  the  wine,  whate'er  the  seal  is; 

And  sit  you  down  and  say  your  grace 
With  thankful  heart,  whate'er  the  meal  is. 

—Here  comes  the  smoking  Bouillabaisse! 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


Ould  Doctor  Mack  717 


OULD  DOCTOR  MACK 

Ye  may  tramp  the  world  over 

From  Delhi  to  Dover, 
And  sail  the  salt  say  from  Archangel  to  Arragon, 

Circumvint  back 

Through  the  whole  Zodiack, 
But  to  ould  Docther  Mack  ye  can't  furnish  a  paragon. 

Have  ye  the  dropsy, 

The  gout,  the  autopsy? 
Fresh  livers  and  limbs  instantaneous  he'll  shape  yez. 

No  ways  infarior 

In  skill,  but  suparior. 
And  lineal  postarior  to  Ould  Aysculapius. 

Chorus 
He  and  his  wig  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye,  and  complexion  clarety : 

Here's  to  his  health, 

Honor  and  wealth, 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crame  of  all  charity ! 

How  the  rich  and  the  poor. 

To  consult  for  a  cure. 
Crowd  on  to  his  doore  in  their  carts  and  their  carriages, 

Showin'  their  tongues 

Or  unlacin'  their  lungs, 
For  divle  one  symptom  the  docther  disparages. 

Troth,  an'  he'll  tumble, 

For  high  or  for  humble. 
From  his  warm  feather-bed  wid  no  cross  contrariety; 

Makin'  as  light 

Of  nursin'  all  night 
The  beggar  in  rags  as  the  belle  of  society. 

Chorus — He  and  his  wig,  etc. 

And  as  if  by  a  meracle. 
Ailments  hysterical, 
Dad,  wid  one  dose  of  bread-pills  he  can  smother, 


718  Tribute 

And  quench  the  love-sickness 

Wid  wonderful  quickness, 
By  prescribin'  the  right  boys  and  girls  to  aich  other. 

And  the  sufferin'  childer — 

Your  eyes  'twould  bewilder 
To  see  the  wee  craythurs  his  coat-tails  unravellin', 

And  aich  of  them  fast 

On  some  treasure  at  last, 
Well  knowin'  ould  Mack's  just  a  toy -shop  out  travellin'. 

Chorus — He  and  his  wig,  etc. 

Thin,  his  doctherin'  done, 

In  a  rollickin'  run 
Wid  the  rod  or  the  gun,  he's  the  foremost  to  figure. 

By  Jupiter  Ammon, 

What  jack-snipe  or  salmon 
E'er  rose  to  backgammon  his  tail-fly  or  trigger! 

And  hark!  the  view-hollo! 

'Tis  Mack  in  full  follow 
On  black  "  Faugh-a-ballagh  "  the  country-side  sailin'. 

Och,  but  you'd  think 

'Twas  old  Nimrod  in  pink, 
*Wid  his  spurs  cryin'  chink  over  park-wall  and  palin'. 

Chorus 
He  and  his  wig  wid  the  curls  so  carroty, 
Aigle  eye,  and  complexion  clarety: 

Here's  to  his  health, 

Honor  and  wealth! 
Hip,  hip,  hooray!  wid  all  hilarity, 
Hip,  hip,  hooray!    That's  the  way, 
All  at  once,  widout  disparity! 

One  more  cheer 

For  our  docther  dear, 
The  king  of  his  kind  and  the  crame  of  all  charity. 

Hip,  hip,  hooray! 

Alfred  Perceval  Graves. 


Father  O'Flynn  719 


FATHER  O'FLYNN 

Of  priests  we  can  offer  a  charmin'  variety, 
Far  renowned  for  lamin'  and  piety ; 
Still,  I'd  advance  ye,  widout  impropriety, 
Father  O'Flynn  as  the  flower  of  them  all. 

Chorus 
Here's  a  health  to  you,  Father  O'Flynn, 
Slainte,  and  slainte,  and  slainte  agin; 

Powerfulest  preacher,  and 

Tenderest  teacher,  and 
Kindliest  creature  in  ould  Donegal. 

Don't  talk  of  your  Provost  and  Fellows  of  Trinity, 
Famous  for  ever  at  Greek  and  Latinity, 
Dad  and  the  divels  and  all  at  Divinity, 

Father  O'Flynn  'd  make  hares  of  them  all! 
Come,  T  venture  to  give  you  my  word. 
Never  the  likes  of  his  logic  was  heard, 
Down  from  Mythology 
Into  Thayology, 
Troth!  and  Conchology  if  he'd  the  call. 
Chorus. 

Och !  Father  O'Flynn,  you've  the  wonderful  way  wid  you, 
All  ould  sinners  are  wishful  to  pray  wid  you, 
All  the  young  childer  are  wild  for  to  play  wid  you. 
You've  such  a  way  wid  you,  Father  avick ! 
Still  for  all  you've  so  gentle  a  soul, 
Gad,  you've  your  flock  in  the  grandest  control; 
Checking  the  crazy  ones, 
Coaxin'  onaisy  ones, 
Liftin'  the  lazy  ones  on  wid  the  stick. 
•    Chorus. 

And  though  quite  avoidin'  all  foolish  frivolity. 
Still  at  all  seasons  of  innocent  jollity, 
Where  was  the  play-boy  could  claim  an  equality 
At  comicality.  Father,  wid  you? 


720  Tribute 

Once  the  Bishop  looked  grave  at  your  jest, 
Till  this  remark  set  him  off  wid  the  rest: 
"  Is   it   lave   gaiety 
All  to  the  laity? 
Cannot  the  clargy  be  Irishmen  too?" 
Chorus. 

Alfred  Perceval  Graves. 


THE  BALD-HEADED  TYKANT 

O  THE  quietest  home  in  earth  had  I, 
No  thought  of  trouble,  no  hint  of  care; 

Like  a  dream  of  pleasure  the  days  fled  by. 
And  Peace  had  folded  her  pinions  there. 

But  one  day  there  joined   in  our  household  band 

A  bald-headed  tyrant  from  No-man's-land. 


Oh,  the  despot  came  in  the  dead  of  night, 
And  no  one  ventured  to  ask  him  why; 

Like  slaves  we  trembled  before  his  might. 

Our  hearts  stood  still  when  we  heard  him  cry; 

For  never  a  soul  could  his  power  withstand, 

That   bald-headed  tyrant  from   No-man's-land. 


He  ordered  us  here,  and  he  sent  us  there — 

Though  never  a  word  could  his  small  lips  speak- 

With  his  toothless  gums  and  his  vacant  stare, 
And  his  helpless  limbs  so  frail  and  weak. 

Till  I  cried,  in  a  voice  of  stern  command, 

"  Go  up,  thou  bald-head  from  No-man's-land ! " 


But  his  abject  slaves  they  turned  on  me; 

Like  the  bears  in  Scripture,  they'd  rend  me  there, 
The  while  they  worshiped  with  bended  knee 

This  ruthless  wretch  with  the  missing  hair; 
For  he  rules  them   all  with  relentless  hand. 
This  bald-headed  tyrant  from  No-man's-land. 


Barney  McGee  721 

Then  I  searched  for  help  in  every  clime, 
For  peace  had  fled  from  my  dwelling  now, 

Till  I  finally  thought  of  old  Father  Time, 
And  low  before  him  I  made  my  bow. 

"Wilt  thou  deliver  me  out  of  his  hand. 

This    bald-headed   tyrant   from    No-man's-land?" 


Old  Time  he  looked  with  a  puzzled  stare, 
And  a  smile  came  over  his   features  grim. 

"I'll  take  the  tyrant  under  my  care: 
Watch  what  my  hour-glass  does  to  him. 

The  veriest  humbug  that  ever  was  planned 

Is  this  same  bald-head  from  No-man's-land." 


Old  Time  is  doing  his  work  full  well — 
Much  less  of  might  does  the  tyrant  wield; 

But,  ah!  with  sorrow  my  heart  will  swell. 
And  sad  tears  fall  as  I  see  him  yield. 

Could  I  stay  the  touch  of  that  shriveled  hand, 

I  would  keep  the  bald-head  from   No-man's-land. 


For  the  loss  of  peace  I  have  ceased  to  care; 

Like  other  vassals,  I've  learned,  forsooth, 
To  love  the  wretch  who  forgot  his  hair 

And  hurried  along  without  a  tooth. 
And   he  rules  me  too   with  his  tiny   hand, 
This   bald-headed   tyrant   from   No-man's-land. 

Mary  E.  Vandyne. 


BARNEY  McGEE 

Barney  McGee,  there's  no  end  of  good  luck  in  yon, 
Will-o'-the-wisp,  with  a  flicker  of  Puck  in  you. 
Wild  as  a  bull-pup,  and  all  of  his  pluck  in  you — 
Let  a  man  tread  on  your  coat  and  he'll  see! 
Eyes  like  the  lakes  of  Killarney  for  clarity, 
Nose  that  turns  up  without  any  vulgarity, 


722  Tribute 

Smile  like  a  cherub,  and  hair  that  is  carroty — 

Whoop,  you're  a  rarity,  Barney  McGee! 

Mellow  as  Tarragon, 

Prouder  than  Aragon — 

Hardly  a  paragon. 

You  will  agree — 

Here's  all  that's  fine  to  you! 

Books  and  old  wine  to  you! 

Girls  be  divine  to  you, 

Barney  McGee ! 

Lucky  the  day  when  I  met  you  unwittingly. 

Dining  where  vagabonds  came  and  went  flittingly. 

Here's  some  Barhera  to  drink  it  befittingly, 

That  day  at  Silvio's,  Barney  McGee! 

Many's  the  time  we  have  quaffed  our  Chianti  there, 

Listened  to  Silvio  quoting  us  Dante  there — 

Once  more  to  drink  Nebiolo  Spumante  there, 

How  we'd  pitch  Pommery  into  the  seal 

There  where  the  gang  of  us 

Met  ere  Rome  rang  of  us, 

They  had  the  hang  of  us 

To  a  degree. 

How  they  would  trust  to  you ! 

That  was  but  just  to  you. 

Here's  o'er  their  dust  to  you, 

Barney  McGee! 

Barney  McGee,  when  you're  sober  you  scintillate, 

But  when  you're  in  drink  you're  the  pride  of  the  intellect; 

Divil  a  one  of  us  ever  came  in  till  late. 

Once  at  the  bar  where  you  happened  to  be — 

Every  eye  there  like  a  spoke  in  you  centering. 

You  with  your  eloquence,  blarney,  and  bantering — 

All  Vagabondia  shouts  at  your  entering. 

King  of  the  Tenderloin,  Barney  McGee! 

There's  no  satiety 

In  your  society 

With  the  variety 

Of  your  esprit. 


Barney  McGee  723 

Here's  a  long  purse  to  you, 
And  a  great  thirst  to  you! 
Fate  be  no  worse  to  you, 
Barney  McGee! 

Och,  and  the  girls  whose  poor  hearts  you  deracinate, 

Whirl  and  bewilder  and  flutter  and  fascinate! 

Faith,  it's  so  killing  you  are,  you  assassinate — 

Murder's  the  word  for  you,  Barney  McGee! 

Bold  when  they're  sunny,  and  smooth  when  they're  showery — 

Oh,  but  the  style  of  you,  fluent  and  flowery ! 

Chesterfield's  way,  with  a  touch  of  the  Bowery! 

How  would  they  silence  you,  Barney  machree? 

Naught  can  your  gab  allay, 

Learned  as  Rabelais 

(You  in  his  abbey  lay 

Once  on  the  spree). 

Here's  to  the  smile  of  you, 

(Oh,  but  the  guile  of  you!) 

And  a  long  while  of  you, 

Barney  McGee! 

Facile  with  phrases  of  length  and  Latinity, 

Like  honorificabilitudinity, 

Where  is  the  maid  could  resist  your  vicinity, 

Wiled  by  the  impudent  grace  of  your  plea? 

Then  your  vivacity  and  pertinacity 

Carry  the  day  with  the  divil's  audacity; 

No  mere  veracity  robs  your  sagacity 

Of  perspicacity,  Barney  McGee. 

When  all  is  new  to  them, 

What  will  you  do  to  them? 

Will  you  be  true  to  them? 

Who  shall  decree? 

Here's  a  fair  strife  to  you! 

Health  and  long  life  to  you! 

And  a  great  wife  to  you,  Barney  McGee! 

Barney  McGee,  you're  the  pick  of  gentility; 
Nothing  can  phase  you,  you've  such  a  facility; 
Nobody  ever  yet  found  your  utility — 


724  Tribute 

There  is  the  charm  of  you,  Barney  McGee; 
Under  conditions  that  others  would  stammer  in, 
Still  unperturbed  as  a  cat  or  a  Cameron, 
Polished  as  somebody  in  the  Decameron, 
Putting  the  glamour  on  price  or  Pawnee. 
In  your  meanderin', 
Love  and  philanderin', 
Calm  as  a  mandarin 
Sipping  his  tea! 
Under  the  art  of  you, 
Parcel  and  part  of  you. 
Here's  to  the  heart  of  you, 
Barney  McGee! 

You  who  were  ever  alert  to  befriend  a  man, 

You  who  were  ever  the  first  to  defend  a  man. 

You  who  had  always  the  money  to  lend  a  man, 

Down  on  his  luck  and  hard  up  for  a  V! 

Sure,  you'll  be  playing  a  harp  in  beatitude 

(And  a  quare  sight  you  will  be  in  that  attitude) — 

Some  day,  where  gratitude  seems  but  a  platitude, 

You'll  find  your  latitude,  Barney  McGee. 

That's  no  flim-flam   at  all, 

Frivol  or  sham  at  all, 

Just  the  plain — Damn  it  all, 

Have  one  with  me! 

Here's  one  and  more  to  you! 

Friends  by  the  score  to  you, 

True  to  the  core  to  you, 

Barney  McGee! 

Richard  Hovey. 

ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE 

My  curse  upon  your  venom'd  stang. 
That  shoots  my  tortur'd  gooms  alang; 
An'  thro'  my  lug  gies  monie  a  twang, 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance. 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi'  bitter  pang. 

Like  racking  engines! 


Address  to  the  Toothache  725 

A'  down  my  beard  the  slavers  trickle! 
I  throw  the  wee  stools  o'er  the  mickle, 
While  round  the  fire  the  giglets  keckle 

To  see  me  loup; 
An',  raving  mad,  I  wish  a  heckle 

Were  i'  their  doup! 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes, 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  colic  squeezes, 
Our  neebors  sympathize  to  ease  us 

Wi'  pitying  moan; 
But  thee! — thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases, 

They  mock  our  groan! 


Ill-hairsts,  daft  bargains,  cutty-stools, 
Or  worthy  frien's  laid  i'  the  mools, 

Sad  sight  to  see! 
The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash  o'  fools, 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree! 

Whare'er  that  place  be  priests  ca'  hell, 
Whare  a'  the  tones  o'  misery  yell. 
An'  ranked  plagues  their  numbers  tell 

In  dreadfu'  raw. 
Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the  bell 

Amang  them  a'! 

O  thou  grim,  mischief-making  chiel, 
That  gars  the  notes  o'  discord  squeel, 
'Till  humankind  aft  dance  a  reel 

In  gore  a  shoe-thick; — 
Gie  a'  the  faes  o'  Scotland's  weal 

A  towmond's  toothache! 

Robert  Bums. 


726  Tribute 


A   FAREWELL    TO    TOBACCO 

May  the  Babylonish  curse 

Straight  confound  my  stammering  verse, 

If   T  can  a  passage  see 

In  this  word-perplexity. 

Or  a  fit  expression  find, 

Or  a  language  to  my  mind, 

(Still  the  phrase  is  wide  or  scant) 

To  take  leave  of  thee,  great  plant! 

Or  in  any  terms  relate 

Half  my  love,  or  half  my  hate: 

For  I  hate,  yet  love  thee  so, 

That,  whichever  thing  I  show. 

The  plain  truth  will  seem  to  be 

A  contrain'd  hyperbole, 

And  the  passion  to  proceed 

More  from  a  mistress  than   a  weed. 

Sooty  retainer  to  the  vine, 
Bacchus'  black  servant,  negro  fine; 
Sorcerer,  that  mak'st  us  dote  upon 
Thy  begrimed  complexion, 
And,  for  thy  pernicious  sake. 
More  and  greater  oaths  to  break 
Than  reclaimed  lovers  take 
'Gainst  women :  thou  thy  siege  dost  lay 
Much  too  in  the  female  way, 
While  thou  suck'st  the  laboring  breath 
Faster  than  kisses  or  than  death. 

Thou  in  such  a  cloud  dost  bind  us 
That  our  worst  foes  cannot  find  us, 
And   ill-fortune,  that  would  thwart  us. 
Shoots  at  rovers,  shooting  at  us; 
While  each  man,  through  thy  height'ning  steam, 
Does  like  a  smoking  Etna  seem. 
And  all  about  us  does  express 
(Fancy  and  wit  in  richest  dress) 
A  Sicilian  fruitfulness. 


A  Farewell  to  Tobacco  727 

Thou  through  such  a  mist  dost  show  us 
That  our  best  friends  do  not  know  us, 
And,  for  those  allowed  features. 
Due  to  reasonable  creatures, 
Liken'st  us  to  fell  Chimeras, 
Monsters, — that  who  see  us,  fear  us; 
Worse  .than  Cerberus  or  Geryon, 
Or,  who  first  loved  a  cloud,  Ixion. 

Bacchus  we  know,  and  we  allow 
His  tipsy  rites.     But  what  art  thou 
That  but  by  reflex  canst  show 
What  his  deity  can  do, 
As  the  false  Egyptian  spell 
Aped  the  true  Hebrew  miracle? 
Some  few  vapors  thou  may'st  raise, 
The  weak  brain   may  serve  to  amaze. 
But  to  the  reins  and  nobler  heart 
Canst  nor  life  nor  heat  impart. 

Brother  of  Bacchus,  later  born, 
The  old  world  was  sure  forlorn 
Wanting  thee,  that  aidest  more 
The  god's  victories  than,  before. 
All  his  panthers,  and  the  brawls 
Of  his  piping  Bacchanals. 
These,  as  stale,  we  disallow. 
Or  judge  of  thee  meant:  only  thou 
His  true  Indian  conquest  art; 
And,  for  ivy  round  his  dart, 
The  reformed  god  now  weaves 
A  finer  thyrsus  of  thy  leaves. 


Scent  to  match  thy  rich  perfume 
Chemic  art  did  ne'er  presume 
Through  her  quaint  alembic  strain, 
None  so  sov'reign  to  the  brain; 
Nature,  that  did  in  thee  excel, 
Framed  again  no  second  smell, 


728  Tribute 

Koses,  violets,  but  toys 
For  the  smaller  sort  of  boys, 
Or  for  greener  damsels  meant; 
Thou  art  the  only  manly  scent. 

Stinkingest  of  the  stinking  kind! 
Filth  of  the  mouth  and  fog  of  the  mindj 
Africa,  that  brags  her  foison. 
Breeds  no  such  prodigious  poison ! 
Henbane,   nightshade,  both  together, 
Hemlock,  aconite — 

Nay,   rather, 
Plant  divine,  of  rarest  virtue; 
Blisters  on  the  tongue  would  hurt  you! 
'Twas  but  in  a  sort  I  blamed  thee; 
None  e'er  prosper'd  who  defamed  thee; 
Irony  all,  and  feign'd  abuse, 
Such  as  perplex'd  lovers  use. 
At  a  need,  when,  in  despair 
To  paint  forth  their  fairest  fair. 
Or  in  part  but  to  express 
That  exceeding  comeliness 
Which  their  fancies  doth  so  strike. 
They  borrow  language  of  dislike; 
And,  instead  of  Dearest  Miss, 
Jewel,  Honey,  Sweetheart,  Bliss, 
And  those  forms  of  old  admiring. 
Call  her  Cockatrice  and  Siren, 
Basilisk,  and  all  that's  evil, 
Witch,  Hyena,   Mermaid,  Devil, 
Ethiop,  Wench,  and  Blackamoor, 
Monkey,  Ape,  and  twenty  more; 
Friendly  Trait'ress,  loving  Foe — 
Not  that  she  is  truly  so, 
But  no  other  way  they  know 
A  contentment  to  express. 
Borders  so  upon  excess, 
That  they  do  not  rightly  wot 
Whether  it  be  from  pain  or  not. 


A  Farewell  to  Tobacco  729 

Or,  as  men  constrained  to  part 
With  what's  nearest  to  their  heart, 
While  their  sorrow's  at  the  height, 
Lose  discrimination  quite. 
And  their  hasty  wrath  let  fall. 
To  appease  their  frantic  gall. 
On  the  darling  thing  whatever, 
Whence  they  feel  it  death  to  seyer 
Though  it  be,   as  they,  perforce. 
Guiltless  of  the  sad  divorce. 

For  I  must  (nor  let  it  grieve  thee. 
Friendliest  of  plants,  that  I  must)  leave  thee.   • 
For  thy  sake,  tobacco,  I 
Would  do  anything  but  die, 
And  but  seek  to  extend  my  days 
Long  enough  to  sing  thy  praise. 
But,  as  she  who  once  hath  been 
A  king's   consort  is   a  queen 
Ever  after,  nor  will  bate 
Any  tittle  of  her  state 
Though  a  widow,  or  divorced. 
So  I,  from  thy  converse  forced, 
The  old  name  and  style  retain, 
A  right  Katherine  of  Spain; 
And  a  seat,  too,  'mongst  the  joys 
Of  the  blest  Tobacco  Boys; 
Where,  though  I,  by  sour  physician, 
Am  debarred  the  full  fruition 
Of  thy  favors,  I  may  catch 
Some  collateral  sweets,  and  snatch 
Sidelong  odors,  that  give  life 
Like  glances  from  a  neighbor's  wife ; 
And  still  live  in  the  by-places 
And  the  suburbs  of  thy  graces; 
And  in  thy  borders  take  delight. 
An  unconquer'd  Canaanite. 

Charles  Lamb. 


730  Tribute 


JOHN  BAKLEYCORN 

There  were  three  kings  into  the  east, 
Three  kings  both  great  and  high; 

And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 
John  Barleycorn  should  die. 

They  took  a  plough  and  plough'd  him  down, 

Put  clods  upon  his  head; 
And  they  hae  sworn  a  solemn  oath 

John  Barleycorn  was  dead. 


But  the  cheerful  spring  came  kindly  on, 

And  showers  began  to  fall: 
John  Barleycorn  got  up  again, 

And  sore  surprised  them  all. 

The  sultry  suns  of  summer  came, 
And  he  grew  thick  and  strong; 

His  head  weel  arm'd  wi'  pointed  spears, 
That  no  one  should  him  wrong. 

The  sober  autumn  enterM  mild, 
When  he  grew  wan  and  pale; 

His  bending  joints  and  drooping  head 
Show'd  he  began  to  fail. 

His  colour  sicken'd  more  and  more, 

He  faded  into  age; 
And  then  his  enemies  began 

To  show  their  deadly  rage. 

TheyVe  ta^en  a  weapon,  long  and  sharp, 

And  cut  him  by  the  knee; 
Then  tied  him  fast  upon  a  cart, 
.  Like  a  rogue  for  forgerie. 


John  Barleycorn  731 


They  laid  him  down  upon  his  back, 

And   cudgrell'd   him   full   sore; 
They  hung  him. up  before  the  storm, 


They  filled  up  a  darksome  pit 

With  water  to  the  brim: 
They  heaved  in  John  Barleycorn, 

There  let  him  sink  or  swim. 

They  laid  him  out  upon  the  floor, 

To  work  him   further  woe: 
And  still,  as  signs  of  life  appeared, 

They  toss'd  him  to  and  fro. 

They  wasted  o'er  a  scorching  flame 

The  marrow  of  his  bones; 
But  a  miller  used  him  worst  of  all — 

He  crush'd  him  'tween  two  stones. 

And  they  hae  ta'en  his  very  heart's  blood. 
And  drank  it  round  and  round, 

And  still  the  more  and  more  they  drank. 
Their  joy  did  more  abound. 

John  Barleycorn  was  a  hero  bold, 

Of  noble  enterprise; 
For  if  you  do  but  taste  his  blood, 

'Twill  make  your  courage  rise. 

'Twill  make  a  man  forget  his  woe; 

'Twill  heighten  all  his  joy: 
'Twill  make  the  widow's  heart  to  sing, 

Though  the  tear  were  in  her  eye. 

Then  let  us  toast  John  Barleycorn, 

Each  man   a  glass  in  hand; 
And  may  his  great  posterity 

Ne'er  fail  in  old  Scotland! 


Robert  Bur, 


732  Tribute 


STANZAS  TO  PALE  ALE 

Oh!  I  have  loved  thee  fondly,  ever 
Preferr'd  thee  to  the  choicest  v^^ine; 

From  thee  my  lips  they  could  not  sever 
By  saying  thou  contain'dst  strychnine. 

Did  I  believe  the  slander?     Never! 
I  held  thee  still  to  be  divine. 

For  me  thy  color  hath  a  charm, 

Although  'tis  true  they  call  thee  Pale; 

And  be  thou  cold  when  I  am  warm, 
As  late  I've  been — so  high  the  scale 

Of  Fahrenheit — and  febrile  harm 
Allay,  refrigerating  Ale! 

How  sweet  thou  art! — yet  bitter,  too 

And  sparkling,  like  satiric  fun; 
But  how  much  better  thee  to  brew. 

Than  a  conundrum  or  a  pun. 
It  is,  in  every  point  of  view. 

Must  be  allow'd  by  every  one. 

Refresh  my  heart  and  cool  my  throat. 
Light,  airy  child  of  malt  and  hops! 

That  dost  not  stuff,  engross,  and  bloat 
The  skin,  the  sides,  the  chin,  the  chops. 

And  burst  the  buttons  off  the  coat, 
Jjike  stout  and  porter — fattening  slops! 

Unknown. 

ODE  TO  TOBACCO 

Thou  who,  when  fears  attack, 
Bidst  them  avaunt,  and  Black 
Care,  at  the  horseman's  back 

Perching,  unseatest; 
Sweet,  when  the  morn  is  gray; 
Sweet,  when  they've  cleared  away 
Lunch;  and  at  close  of  day 

Possibly  sweetest: 


Ode  to  Tobacco  783 

I  have  a  liking  old 

For  thee,  though  manifold 

Stories,  I  know,  are  told, 

Not  to  thy  credit; 
How  one  (or  two  at  most) 
Drops  make  a  cat  a  ghost — 
Useless,  except  to  roast — 

Doctors  have  said  it: 

How  they  who  use  fusees 
All  grow  by  slow  degrees 
Brainless  as  chimpanzees, 

Meagre  as  lizards; 
Go  mad,  and  beat  their  wives; 
Plunge  (after  shocking  lives) 
Razors  and  carving  knives 

Into  their  gizzards. 

Confound  such  knavish  tricks! 
Yet  know  I  five  or  six 
Smokers  who  freely  mix 

Still  with  their  neighbors; 
Jones — (who,  I'm  glad  to  say, 
Asked  leave  of  Mrs.  J.) — 
Daily  absorbs  a  clay 

After  his  labors. 

Cats  may  have  had  their  goose 
Cooked  by  tobacco-juice; 
Still  why  deny  its  use 

Thoughtfully  taken? 
We're  not  as  tabbies  are: 
Smith,  take  a  fresh  cigar! 
Jones,  the  tobacco-jar! 

Here's  to  thee.  Bacon! 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


734  Tribute 

SONNET  TO  A  CLAM 

DUM    TACENT    CLAIMANT 

Inglorious  friend!  most  confident  I  am 

Thy  life  is  one  of  very  little  ease; 

Albeit  men  mock  thee  with  their  similes 
And  prate  of  being  "  happy  as  a  clam !  " 
What  though  thy  shell  protects  thy  fragile  head 

From  the  sharp  bailiffs  of  the  briny  sea  ? 

Thy  valves  are,  sure,  no  safety-valves  to  thee, 
While  rakes  are  free  to  desecrate  thy  bed, 
And  bear  thee  off — as  foemen  take  their  spoil — 

Far  from  thy  friends  and  family  to  roam; 

Forced,  like  a  Hessian,  from  thy  native  home, 
To  meet  destruction  in  a  foreign  broil ! 

Though  thou  art  tender  yet  thy  humble  bard 

Declares,  O  clam!  thy  case  is  shocking  hard! 

John  G.  Saxe. 


TO  A  FLY 

TAKEN  OUT  OF  A  BOW^L  OF  PUNCH 

Ah!  poor  intoxicated  little  knave, 

Now  senseless,  floating  on  the  fragrant  wave; 

Why  not  content  the  cakes  alone  to  munch? 
Dearly  thou  pay'st  for  buzzing  round  the  bowl; 
Lost  to  the  world,  thou  busy  sweet-lipped  soul — 

Thus  Death,  as  well  as  Pleasure,  dwells  with  Punch. 


Now  let  me  take  thee  out,  and  moralize — 
Thus  'tis  with  mortals,  as  it  is  with  flies, 

Forever  hankering  after  Pleasure's  cup: 
Though  Fate,  with  all  his  legions,  be  at  hand, 
The  beasts,  the  draught  of  Circe  can't  withstand. 

But  in  goes  every  nose — they  must,  will  sup. 


To  a  Fly  735 

Mad  are  the  passions,  as  a  colt  untamed! 

When  Prudence  mounts  their  backs  to  ride  them  mild. 
They  fling,  they  snort,  they  foam,  they  rise  inflamed. 

Insisting  on  their  own  sole  will  so  wild. 

Gadsbud !  my  buzzing  friend,  thou  art  not  dead ; 
The  Fates,  so  kind,  have  not  yet  snapped  thy  thread; 
By  heavens,  thou  mov'st  a  leg,  and  now  its  brother. 
And  kicking,  lo,  again,  thou  mov'st  another! 

And  now  thy  little  drunken  eyes  unclose, 
And  now  thou  feelest  for  thy  little  nose, 

And,  finding  it,  thou  rubbest  thy  two  hands 
Much  as  to  say,  "  I'm  glad  I'm  here  again." 
And  well  mayest  thou  rejoice — 'tis  very  plain. 

That  near  wert  thou  to  Death's  unsocial  lands. 

And  now  thou  rollest  on  thy  back  about, 
Happy  to  find  thyself  alive,  no  doubt — 

Now  turnest — on  the  table  making  rings, 
Now  crawling,  forming  a  wet  track, 
Now  shaking  the  rich  liquor  from  thy  back, 

Now  fluttering  nectar  from   thy  silken   wings. 

Now  standing  on  thy  head,  thy  strength  to  find, 
And  poking  out  thy  small,  long  legs  behind; 
And  now  thy  pinions  dost  thou  briskly  ply; 
Preparing  now  to  leave  me — farewell,  fly! 

Go,  join  thy  brothers  on  yon  sunny  board. 
And  rapture  to  thy  family  afford — 

There  wilt  thou  meet  a  mistress,  or  a  wife, 
That  saw  thee  drunk,  drop  senseless  in  the  stream. 
Who  gave,  perhaps,  the  wide-resounding  scream, 

And  now  sits  groaning  for  thy  precious  life. 

Yes,  go  and  carry  comfort  to  thy  friends. 
And  wisely  tell  them  thy  imprudence  ends. 
Let  buns  and  sugar  for  the  future  charm; 
l^hese  will  delight,  and  feed,  and  work  no  harm — 


736  Tribute 

While  Punch,  the  grinning,  merry  imp  of  sin, 
Invites  th'  unwary  wanderer  to  a  kiss, 
Smiles  in  his  face,  as  though  he  meant  him  bliss, 

Then,  like  an  alligator,  drags  him  in. 

John  IVolcot. 


ODE  TO  A  BOBTAILED  CAT 

Felis  Infelix  !     Cat  unfortunate. 
With  nary  narrative! 
Canst  thou  no  tail  relate 
Of  how 
(Miaow!) 
Thy  tail  end  came  to  terminate  so  bluntly 
Didst  wear  it  off  by 
Sedentary  habits 
As  do  the  rabbits? 

Didst  go  a 

Fishing  with  it, 

Wishing  with  it 

To  "  bob  "  for  catfish. 
And  get  bobbed  thyself? 

Curses  on  that  fish! 

Didst  lose  it  in  kittenhood. 

Hungrily  chawing  it? 
Or,  gaily  pursuing  it. 

Did  it  make  tangent 
From  thy  swift  circuit? 

Did  some  brother  Greyback — 

Yowling 

And  howling 
In  nocturnal  strife. 

Spitting  and  staring 

Cursing  and  swearing, 

Ripping  and  tearing. 

Calling  thee  "  Sausagetail," 
Abbreviate  thy  suffix? 


A  Dirge  737 

Or  did  thy  jealous  wife 

Detect  yer 
In  some  sly  flirtation, 

And,  after  caudal  lecture, 
•     Bite  off  thy  termination? 
And  sarve  yer  right! 

Did  some  mischievous  boy. 
Some  barbarous  boy. 
Eliminate  thy  finis? 
(Probably!) 

The  wretch!  ' 

The  villain! 
Cruelly  spillin' 
Thy  innocent  blood! 

Furiously  scratch  him 
Where'er  yer  may  catch  him! 

Well,  Bob,  this  course  now  is  left, 
Since  thus  of  your  tail  you're  bereft: 

Tell  your  friend  that  by  letter 

From  Paris 
You  have  learned  the  style  there  is 

To  wear  the  tail  short. 

And  the  briefer  the  better; 

Such  is  the  passion. 
That  every  Grimalkin  will 

Follow  your  fashion. 

Unknown. 

A  DIRGE 

CONCERNING  THE  LATE  LAMENTED  KING  OF  THE  CANNIBAL  ISLANDS 

And  so  our  royal  relative  Is  dead! 

And  so  he  rests  from  gustatory  labors! 
The  white  man  was  his  choice,  but  when  he  fed 

He'd  sometimes  entertain  his  tawny  neighbors. 
He  worshipped,  as  he  said,  his  "Fe-fo-fum," 
The  goddess  of  the  epigastrium. 


738  Tribute 

And  missionaries  graced  his  festive  board, 
Solemn  and  succulent,  in  twos  and  dozens, 

And  smoked  before  their  hospitable  lord, 
Welcome  as  if  they'd  been  his  second  cousins. 

When  cold,  he  warmed  them  as  he  would  his  kin —   " 

They  came  as  strangers,  and  he  took  them  in. 

And  generous! — oh,  wasn't  he?    I  have  known  him 

Exhibit  a  celestial  amiability: — 
He'd  eat  an  enemy,  and  then  would  own  him 

Of  flavor  excellent,  despite  hostility. 
The  crudest  captain  of  the  Turkish  navy 
He  buried  in  an  honorable  grave — y. 

He  had  a  hundred  wives.    To  make  things  pleasant 
They  found  it  quite  judicious  to  adore  him; — 

And  when  he  dined,  the  nymphs  were  always  present — 
Sometimes  beside  him  and 'sometimes — before  him. 

When  he  was  tired  of  one,  he  called  her  "  sweet," 

And  told  her  she  was  "good  enough  to  eat." 

He  was  a  man  of  taste — and  justice,  too; 

He  opened  his  mouth  for  e'en  the  humblest  sinner. 
And  three  weeks  stall-fed  an  emaciate  Jew 

Before  they  brought  him  to  the  royal  dinner. 
With  preacher-men  he  shared  his  board  and  wallet 
And  let  them  nightly  occupy  his  palate ! 

We  grow  like  what  we  eat.     Bad  food  depresses; 

»Good  food  exalts  us  like  an  inspiration, 
And  missionary  on  the  menu  blesses 

And  elevates  the  Feejee  population. 
A  people  who  for  years,  saints,  bairns,  and  women  ate 
Must  soon  their  vilest  qualities  eliminate. 

But  the  deceased  could  never  hold  a  candle 
To  those  prim,  pale-faced  people  of  propriety 

Who  gloat  o'er  gossip  and  get  fat  on  scandal — 
The  cannibals  of  civilized  society; 

They  drink  the  blood  of  brothers  with  their  rations, 

And  crunch  the  bones  of  living  reputations. 


A  Dirge  739 

They  kill  the  soul;  he  only  claimed  the  dwelling. 

They  take  the  sharpened  scalpel  of  surmises 
And  cleave  the  sinews  when  the  heart  is  swelling, 

And  slaughter  Fame  and  Honor  for  their  prizes. 
They  make  the  spirit  in  the  body  quiver; 
They  quench  the  Light!     He  only  took  the — Liver! 

I've  known  some  hardened  customers,  I  wot, 
A  few  tough  fellows — pagans  beyond  question — 

I  wish  had  got  into  his  dinner-pot; 

Although  I'm  certain  they'd  defy  digestion, 

And  break  his  jaw,  and  ruin  his  esophagus, 

Were  he  the  chief  of  beings  anthropophagous! 

How  fond  he  was  of  children !    To  his  breast 

The  tenderest  nurslings  gained  a  free  admission. 

Kank  he  despised,  nor,  if  they  came  well  dressed, 
Cared  if  they  were  plebeian  or  patrician. 

Shade  of  Leigh  Hunt!    Oh,  guide  this  laggard  pen 

To  write  of  one  who  loved  his  fellow  men! 

William  Augustus  CrofFut, 


XII 
WHIMSEY 

AN  ELEGY 

ON  THE  GLORY  OF  HER  SEX^  MRS.  MARY  BLAIZE 

Good  people  all,  with  one  accord, 

Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word — 

From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

The  needy  seldom  pass'd  her  door, 

And  always  found  her  kind; 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 

Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 

She  strove  the  neighborhood  to  please 
With  manners  wondrous  winning; 

And  never  followM  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new. 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size, 

She  never  slumber'd  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

Her  love  was  sought,  T  do  aver. 

By  twenty  beaux  and  more; 
The  King  himself  has  follow'd  her — 

When  she  has  walk'd  before. 

But  now,  her  wealth  and  finery  fled, 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all; 
740 


Parson  Gray  741 

The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortal. 


Let  us  lament,  in  sorrow  sore,- 

For  Kent  Street  well  may  say, 
That  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more 

She  had  not  died  to-day. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 

PAKSON  GKAY 

A  QUIET  home  had  Parson  Gray, 

Secluded  in  a  vale; 
His  daughters  all  were  feminine. 

And  all  his  sons  were  male. 

How  faithfully  did  Parson  Gray 

The  bread  of  life  dispense — 
Well  "posted"  in  theology, 

And  post  and  rail  his  fence. 

'Gainst  all  the  vices  of  the  age 

He  manfully  did  battle; 
His  chickens  were  a  biped  breed. 

And  quadruped  his  cattle. 

No  clock  more  punctually  went. 

He  ne'er  delayed  a  minute — 
Nor  ever  empty  was  his  purse. 

When  he  had  money  in  it. 

His  piety  was  ne'er  denied; 

His  truths  hit  saint  and  sinner; 
At  mom  he  always  breakfasted; 

He  always  dined  at  dinner. 

He  ne'er  by  any  luck  was  grieved. 

By  any  care  perplexed — 
No  filcher  he,  though  when  he  preached, 

He  always  "  took "  a  text. 


742  Whimsey 

As  faithful  characters  he  drew 

As  mortal  ever  saw; 
But  ah!  poor  parson!  when  he  died. 

His  breath  he  could  not  draw! 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


THE  IKISHMAN  AND  THE  LADY 

There  was  a  lady  liv'd  at  Leith, 

A  lady  very  stylish,  man; 
And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  her  teeth. 
She  fell  in  love  with  an  Irishman — 
A  nasty,  ugly  Irishman, 
A  wild,  tremendous  Irishman, 
A  tearing,   swearing,  thumping,  bumping,   ranting,   roaring 
Irishman. 

His  face  was  no  ways  beautiful. 

For  with  small-pox  'twas  scarr'd  across; 
And  the  shoulders  of  the  ugly  dog 
Were  almost  double  a  yard  across. 
Oh,  the  lump  of  an  Irishman, 
The  whiskey-devouring  Irishman, 
The  great  he-rogue  with  his  wonderful  brogue — the  fighting, 
rioting  Irishman! 

One  of  his  eyes  was  bottle-green. 

And  the  other  eye  was  out,  my  dear; 
And  the  calves  of  his  wicked-looking  legs 
Were  more  than  two  feet  about,  my  dear. 
Oh,  the  great  big  Irishman, 
The  rattling,  battling  Irishman — 
The  stamping,  ramping,  swaggering,  staggering,  leathering 
swash  of  an  Irishman! 

He  took  so  much  of  Lundy-foot 

That  he  used  to  snort  and  snuffle — O ! 

And  in  shape  and  size  the  fellow's  neck 
Was  as  bad  as  the  neck  of  a  buffalo. 


The  Cataract  of  Lodore  743 

Oh,  the  horrible  Irishman, 
The  thundering,  blundering  Irishman — 
^^e  slashing,  dashing,  smashing,  lashing,   thrashing,  hash- 
ing Irishman! 

His  name  was  a  terrible  name,  indeed. 

Being  Timothy  Thady  Mulligan; 
And  whenever  he  emptied  his  tumbler  of  punch 
He'd  not  rest  till  he  fiU'd  it  full  again. 
The  boosing,  bruising  Irishman, 
The  'toxicated  Irishman — 
The   whiskey,    frisky,    rummy,    gummy,    brandy,    no   dandy 
Irishman ! 

This  was  the  lad  the  lady  lov'd. 
Like  all  the  girls  of  quality; 
And  he  broke  the  skulls  of  the  men  of  Leith, 
Just  by  the  way  of  jollity. 

Oh,  the  leathering  Irishman, 
The  barbarous,  savage  Irishman — 
The  hearts   of  the  maids,  and  the  gentlemen's  heads,  were 
bothered,  I'm  sure,  by  this  Irishman! 

William  Maginn. 


THE  CATARACT  OF  LODORE 

"  How  does  the  water 
Come  down   at  Lodore  ? " 
My  little  boy  asked  me 
Thus,  once  on  a  time; 
And  moreover  he  tasked  me 
To  tell  him  in  rhyme. 
Anon  at  the  word. 
There  first  came  one  daughter, 
And  then  came  another, 
To  second  and  third 
The  request  of  their  brother, 
And  to  hear  how  the  water 
Comes  down  at  Lodore, 
With  its  rush  and  its  roar. 


744  Whi 


msey 


As  many  a  time 
They  had  seen  it  before. 
So  I  told  them  in  rhyme. 
For  of  rhymes  I  had  store; 
And  'twas  in  my  vocation 
For  their  recreation 
That  so  I  should  sing; 
Because  I  was  Laureate 
To  them  and  the  King. 

From  its  sources  which  well 
In  the  tarn   on  the  fell; 
From  its  fountains 
In  the  mountains. 
Its  rills  and  its  gills; 
Through  moss  and  through  brake. 
It  runs  and  it  creeps 
For  a  while  till  it  sleeps 

In  its  own  little  lake. 
And  thence  at  departing, 
Awakening  and  starting. 
It  runs  through  the  reeds. 
And  away  it  proceeds. 
Through  meadow  and  glade. 

In  sun  and  in  shade, 
And  through  the  wood-shelter. 
Among  crags  in  its  flurry. 
Helter-skelter, 
Hurry-skurry, 
Here  it  comes  sparkling. 
And  there  it  lies  darkling; 
Now  smoking  and  frothing 
Its  tumult  and  wrath  in. 
Till,  in  this  rapid  race 
On  which  it  is  bent. 
It  reaches  the  place 
Of  its  steep  descent. 

The  cataract  strong 
Then  plunges  along, 
Striking  and  raging 


The  Cataract  of     Lodorc  74.6 

As  if  a  war  waging 
Its  caverns  and  rocks  among; 
Rising  and  leaping, 
Sinking    and    creeping, 
Swelling  and  sweeping, 
Showering  and  springing. 
Flying  and  flinging, 
Writhing  and  wringing, 
Eddying  and  whisking, 
Spouting  and  frisking. 
Turning  and  twisting 
Around  and  around 
With  endless  rebound; 
Smiting  and  fighting, 
A  sight  to  delight  in; 
Confounding,  astounding. 
Dizzying  and  deafening  the  ear  with  its  sound. 

Collecting,  projecting, 
Receding  and  speeding, 
And  shocking  and  rocking. 
And  darting  and  parting. 
And  threading  and  spreading. 
And  whizzing  and  hissing. 
And  dripping  and  skipping. 
And  hitting  and  splitting. 
And  shining  and  twining, 
And  rattling  and  battling, 
And  shaking  and  quaking, 
And  pouring  and  roaring, 
And  waving  and  raving. 
And  tossing  and  crossing, 
And  flowing  and  going. 
And  running  and  stunning. 
And  foaming  and  roaming. 
And  dinning  and  spinning. 
And  dropping  and  hopping. 
And  working  and  jerking, 
And  guggling  and  struggling. 
And  heaving  and  cleaving, 
And  moaning  and  groaning; 


746  Whimsey 

And  glittering   and  frittering, 
And  gathering  and  feathering, 
And  whitening  and  brightening, 
And  quivering  and  shivering, 
And  hurrying  and  skurrying. 
And  thundering  and  floundering; 

Dividing  and  gliding  and  sliding, 
And  falling  and  brawling  and  sprawling. 
And  driving  and  riving  and  striving. 
And  sprinkling  and  twinkling  and  wrinkling, 
And  sounding  and  bounding  and  rounding, 
And  bubbling  and  troubling  and  doubling, 
And  grumbling  and  rumbling  and  tumbling, 
And  clattering  and  battering  and  shattering; 

Retreating  and  beating  and  meeting  and  sheeting, 
Delaying  and  straying  and  playing  and  spraying, 
Advancing  and  prancing  and  glancing  and  dancing. 
Recoiling,  turmoiling  and  toiling  and  boiling, 
And  gleaming  and  streaming  and  steaming  and  beaming. 
And  rushing  and  flushing  and  brushing  and  gushing. 
And  flapping  and  rapping  and  clapping  and  slapping, 
And  curling  and  whirling  and  purling  and  twirling, 
And  thumping  and  plumping  and  bumping  and  jumping, 
And  dashing  and  flashing  and  splashing  and  clashing; 
And  so  never  ending,  but  always  descending, 
Sounds  and  motions  forever  and  ever  are  blending. 
All  at  once  and  all  o'er,  with  a  mighty  uproar, — 
And  this  way  the  water  comes  down  at  Lodore. 

Robert  Southey. 


LAY  OF  THE  DESERTED  INFLUENZAED 

Doe,  doe! 

I  shall  dever  see  her  bore ! 
Dever  bore  our  feet  shall  rove 

The  beadows  as  of  yore  \ 
Dever  bore  with  byrtle  boughs 


Belagcholly  Days  747 

Her  tresses  shall  I  twide — 
Dever  bore  her  bellow  voice 

Bake  hellody  with  bide! 
Dever  shall  we  lidger  bore, 

Abid  the  flow'rs  at  dood, 
Dever  shall  we  gaze  at  dight 

Upon  the  tedtder  boodi 
Ho,  doe,  doe! 

Those  berry  tibes  have  flowd. 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  her  bore. 

By  beautiful!   by  owd! 
Ho,   doe,   doe! 

I  shall  dever  see  her  bore, 
She  will  forget  be  id  a  bonth, 

(Bost  probably  before) — 
She  will  forget  the  byrtle  boughs, 

The  flow'rs  we  plucked  at  dood, 
Our  beetigs  by  the  tedtder  stars. 

Our  gazigs  at  the  bood. 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  agaid 
^     The  Lily  and  the  Rose; 
The  dabask  cheek!  the  sdowy  brow! 

The  perfect  bouth  ad  dose! 
Ho,  doe,  doe! 

Those  berry  tibes  have  flowd — 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  her  bore. 

By  beautiful!  by  owd!  ! 

H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell. 

BELAGCHOLLY  DAYS 

Chilly  Dovebber  with  his  boadigg  blast 

Dow  cubs  add  strips  the  beddow  add  the  lawd, 
Eved  October's  suddy  days  are  past — 
Add  Subber's  gawd! 

I  kdow  dot  what  it  is  to  which  I  cligg 

That  stirs  to  sogg  add  sorrow,  yet  I  trust 
That  still  I  sigg,  but  as  the  liddets  sigg — 
Because  I  bust. 


748  Whimsey 

Add  dow,  farewell  to  roses  add  to  birds, 

To  larded  fields  and  tigkligg  streablets  eke; 
Farewell  to  all  articulated  words 
I  faid  would  speak. 

Farewell,  by  cherished  strolliggs  od  the  sward, 

Greed  glades  add  forest  shades,  farewell  to  you ; 
With  sorrowing  heart  I,  wretched  add  forlord, 
Bid  you — achew!  !  ! 

Unknown. 


KHYME  OF  THE  RAIL 

Singing  through  the  forests, 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting   under   arches. 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains. 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale — 
Bless  me!  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail! 

Men  of  different  "  stations  " 

In  the  eye  of  Fame 
Here  are  very  quickly 

Coming  to  the  same. 
High   and   lowly  people. 

Birds  of  every  feather, 
On  a  common  level 

Travelling  together. 

Gentleman   in   shorts, 

Looming  very  tall; 
Gentleman  at  large, 

Talking  very  small; 
Gentleman  in  tights, 

With  a  loose-ish  mien; 
Gentleman  in  grey, 

Looking  rather  green; 


Rhyme  of  the  Rail  749 

Gentleman  quite  old, 

Asking  for  the  news; 
Gentleman  in  black, 

In  a  fit  of  blues; 
Gentleman  in  claret, 

Sober  as  a  vicar; 
Gentleman   in   tweed. 

Dreadfully  in  liquor! 

Stranger  on  the  right. 
Looking  very  sunny, 

Obviously  reading 

Something  very  funny. 

Now  the   smiles  are  thicker. 
Wonder  what  they  mean? 

Faith,  he's  got  the  Knicker- 
bocker Magazine! 

Stranger  on  the  left, 

Closing  up  his  peepers; 
Now  he  snores  again, 

Like  the  Seven  Sleepers; 
At  his  feet  a  volume 

Gives  the  explanation. 
How  the  man  grew  stupid 

From  "  Association." 

Ancient  maiden  lady 

Anxiously   remarks. 
That  there  must  be  peril 

'Mong  so  many  sparks; 
Roguish-looking  fellow, 

Turning  to  the  stranger. 
Says  it's  his  opinion 

She  is  out  of  danger! 

Woman  with  her  baby, 

Sitting  vis-a-vis, 
Baby  keeps  a-squalling, 

Woman  looks  at  me; 


750  Whimsey 

Asks  about  the  distance, 
Says  it's  tiresome  talking, 

Noises  of  the  cars 
Are  so  very  shocking ! 


Market-woman,  careful 

Of  the  precious  casket, 
Knowing  eggs  are  eggs, 

Tightly  holds  her  basket; 
Feeling  that  a  smash. 

If  it  came,  would  surely 
Send  her  eggs  to  pot 

Rather  prematurely. 


Singing  through  the  forests. 

Rattling  over  ridges, 
Shooting  under  arches, 

Rumbling  over  bridges, 
Whizzing  through  the  mountains, 

Buzzing  o'er  the  vale; 
Bless  me!  this  is  pleasant, 

Riding  on  the  Rail! 


John  G.  Saxe. 


ECHO 

I  ASKED  of  Echo,  t'other  day 

(Whose  words  are  often  few  and  funny). 
What  to  a  novice  she  could  say 

Of  courtship,  love,  and  matrimony. 

Quoth  Echo  plainly, — "  Matter-o'-money !  " 


Whom   should  T  marry?     Should  it  be 
A  dashing  damsel,  gay  and  pert, 

A  pattern  of  inconstancy; 
Or  selfish,  mercenary  flirt? 
Quoth  Echo,  sharply,— " Nary  flirt!" 


Song  761 

What  if,  aweary  of  the  strife 

That  long  has  lured  the  dear  deceiver, 

She  promise  to  amend  her  life, 
And  sin  no  more;  can  I  believe  her? 
Quoth  Echo,  very  promptly, — "  Leave  her  I  *' 

But  if  some  maiden  with  a  heart 

On  me  should  venture  to  bestow  it. 
Pray,  should  I  act  the  wiser  part 

To  take  the  treasure  or  forego  it? 

Quoth  Echo,  with  decision, — "  Go  it !  " 

But  what   if,   seemingly   afraid 

To  bind  her  fate  in  Hymen's  fetter, 
She  vow  she  means  to  die  a  maid, 

In  answer  to  my  loving  letter? 

Quoth  Echo,  rather  coolly, — "Let  her!" 

What  if,  in  spite  of  her  disdain, 

I  find  my  heart  intwined  about 
With   Cupid's   dear   delicious   chain 

So  closely  that  T  can't  get  out? 

Quoth  Echo,  laughingly,— "  Get  out!'' 

But  if  some  maid  with  beauty  blest. 

As  pure  and  fair  as  Heaven  can  make  her. 

Will  share  my  labor  and  my  rest 

Till  envious  Death  shall  overtake  her? 
Quoth  Echo  (sotto  voce),— "Take  her!" 

John  G.  Saxe. 


SONG 

Echo,  tell  me,  while  I  wander 

O'er  this  fairy  plain  to  prove  him, 

If  my  shepherd  still  grows  fonder. 

Ought  I  in  return  to  love  him? 

Echo :  Love  him,  love  him ! 


752  Whimsey 

If  he  loyes,  as  is  the  fashion, 

Should  I  churlishly  forsake  him? 

Or  in  pity  to  his  passion, 
Fondly  to  my  bosom  take  him? 
Echo :  Take  him,  take  him ! 

Thy  advice  then,  I'll  adhere  to, 

Since  in  Cupid's  chains  I've  led  him ; 
And  with  Henry  shall  not  fear  to 
Marry,  if  you  answer,  "  Wed  him ! " 
Echo :  Wed  him,  wed  him ! 

Joseph  Addison. 


A  GENTLE  ECHO  ON  WOMAN 

IN   THE   DORIC   MANNER 

Shepherd.  Echo,  I  ween,  will  in  the  woods  reply, 

And  quaintly  answer  questions:  shall  I  try? 
Echo.  Try. 

Shepherd.  What  must  we  do  our  passion  to  express? 
Echo.  Press. 

Shepherd.  How  shall  I  please  her,  who  ne'er  loved  before? 
Echo.  Before. 

Shepherd.  What  most  moves  women  when  we  them  address? 
Echo.  A  dress. 

Shepherd.  Say,  what  can  keep  her  chaste  whom  I  adore? 
Echo.  A  door. 

Shepherd.  If  music  softens  rocks,  love  tunes  my  lyre. 
Echo.  Liar. 

Shepherd.  Then  teach  me,  Echo,  how  shall  I  come  by  her? 
Echo.  Buy  her. 

Shepherd.  When  bought,  no  question  I  shall  be  her  dear? 
Echo.  Her  deer. 

Shepherd.  But  deer  have  horns :  how  must  I  keep  her  under  ? 
Echo.  Keep  her  under. 

Shepherd.  But  what  can  glad  me  when  she's  laid  on  bier? 
Echo.  Beer. 

Shepherd.  What  must  I  do  so  women  will  be  kind? 
Echo.  Be  kind. 


Lay  of  Ancient  Rome 


753 


Shepherd.  What  must  I  do  when  women  will  be  cross? 
Echo.  Be  cross. 

Shepherd.  Lord,  what  is  she  that  can  so  turn  and  wind? 
Echo.  Wind. 

Shepherd.  If  she  be  wind,  what  stills  her  when  she  blows? 
Echo.  Blows. 

Shepherd.  But  if  she  bang  again,  still  should  I  bang  her? 
Echo.  Bang    her. 

Shepherd.  Is  there  no  way  to  moderate  her  anger? 
Echo.  Hang  her. 

Shepherd.  Thanks,  gentle  Echo !  right  thy  answers  tell 
What  woman  is  and  how  to  guard  her  well. 
Echo,  Guard  her  well. 

Dean  Swift. 


LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME 

Oh,  the  Roman  was  a  rogue. 

He  erat  was,  you  bettum; 
He  ran  his  automobilus 

And  smoked  his  cigarettum. 
He  wore  a  diamond  studibus 

And  elegant  cravattum, 
A  maxima  cum  laude  shirt 

And  such  a  stylish  hattum! 

He  loved  the  luscious  hic-haec-hoc. 

And  bet  on  games  and  equi; 
At  times  he  won  at  others  though. 

He  got  it  in  the  nequi; 
He  winked,  (quo  usque  tandem  ?)  at 

Puellas  on  the  Forum, 
And  sometimes,  too,  he  even  made 

Those  goo-goo  oculorum! 


He  frequently  was  seen 
At  combats  gladiatorial 

And  ate  enough  to  feed 

Ten  boarders  at  Memorial; 


754  Whimsey 

He  often  went  on  sprees 

And  said,  on  starting  homus, 

"  Hie  labour — opus  est, 

Oh,  where's  my  hie — hie — domus  ? " 


Although  he  lived  in  Rome, — 

Of  all  the  arts  the  middle — 
He  was,  (excuse  the  phrase,) 

A  horrid  individ'l; 
Ah,  what  a  different  thing 

Was  the  homo  (dative,  hominy) 
Of  far  away  B.  C. 

From  us  of  Anno  Domini. 

Thomas  R.  Ybarra. 


A  NEW  SONG 

OP  NEW   SIMILES 

My  passion  is  as  mustard  strong; 

I  sit  all  sober  sad; 
Drunk  as  a  piper  all  day  long, 

Or  like  a  March-hare  mad. 

Round  as  a  hoop  the  bumpers  flow; 

I  drink,  yet  can't  forget  her; 
For  though  as  drunk  as  David's  sow 

I  love  her  still  the  better. 

Pert  as  a  pear-monger  I'd  be, 

If  Molly  were  but  kind ; 
Cool  as  a  cucumber  could  see 

The  rest  of  womankind. 

Like  a  stuck  pig  I  gaping  stare, 
And  eye  her  o'er  and  o'er; 

Lean  as  a  rake,  with  sighs  and  care, 
Sleek  as  a  mouse  before. 


A  New  Song  766 

Plump  as  a  partridge  was  I  known, 

And  soft  as  silk  my  skin; 
My  cheeks  as  fat  as  butter  grown, 

But  as  a  goat  now  thin! 

I  melancholy  as  a  cat, 

Am  kept  awake  to  weep; 
But  she,  insensible  of  that, 

Sound  as  a  top  can  sleep. 

Hard  is  her  heart  as  flint  or  stone, 

She  laughs  to  see  me  pale ; 
And  merry  as  a  grig  is  grown. 

And  brisk  as  bottled  ale. 

The  god  of  Love  at  her  approach 

Is  busy  as  a  bee; 
Hearts  sound  as  any  bell  or  roach. 

Are  smit  and  sigh  like  me. 

Ah  me!  as  thick  as  hops  or  hail 

The  fine  men  crowd  about  her; 
But  soon  as  dead  as  a  door-nail 

Shall  I  be,  if  without  her. 

Straight  as  my  leg  her  shape  appears, 
-  O  were  we  join'd  together! 
My  heart  would  be  scot-free  from  cares. 
And  lighter  than  a  feather. 

As  fine  as  five-pence  is  her  mien. 

No  drum  was  ever  tighter ; 
Her  glance  is  as  the  razor  keen> 

And  not  the  sun  is  brighter. 

As  soft  as  pap  her  kisses  are, 

Methinks  I  taste  them  yet; 
Brown  as  a  berry  is  her  hair, 

Her  eyes  as  black  as  jet. 


756  Whimsey 

As  smooth  as  glass,  as  white  as  curds 
•     Her  pretty  hand  invites; 
Sharp  as  her  needle  are  her  words, 
Her  wit  like  pepper  bites. 

Brisk  as  a  body-louse  she  trips, 

Clean  as  a  penny  drest; 
Sweet  as  a  rose  her  breath  and  lips, 

Kound  as  the  globe  her  breast. 

Full  as  an  egg  was  I  with  glee, . 

And  happy  as  a  king: 
Good  Lord!  how  all  men  envied  me! 

She  loved  like  any  thing. 

But  false  as  hell,  she,  like  the  wind, 

Chang'd,  as  her  sex  must  do; 
Though  seeming  as  the  turtle  kind. 

And  like  the  gospel  true. 

If  I  and  Molly  could  agree, 

Let  who  would  take  Peru! 
Great  as  an  Emperor  should  I  be. 

And  richer  than  a  Jew. 

Till  you  grow  tender  as  a  chick, 

I'm  dull  as  any  post; 
Let  us  like  burs  together  stick. 

And  warm  as  any  toast. 

You'll  know  me  truer  than  a  die. 

And  wish  me  better  sped; 
Flat  as  a  flounder  when  I  lie. 

And  as  a  herring  dead. 

Sure  as  a  gun  she'll  drop  a  tear 

And  sigh,  perhaps,  and  wish, 
When  I  am  rotten  as  a  pear, 

And  mute  as  any  fish. 

John  Gay. 


The  American  Traveller  757 


THE  AMERICAN  TRAVELLER 

To  Lake  Aghmoogenegamook 

All  in  the  State  of  Maine, 
A  man  from  Wittequergaugaum  came 

One  evening  in  the  rain. 

"  I  am  a  traveller,"  said  he, 

**  Just  started  on  a  tour. 
And  go  to  Nomjamskillicook 

To-morrow  morn  at  four." 

He  took  a  tavern-bed  that  night, 
And,  with  the  morrow's  sun, 

By  way  of  Sekledobskus  went. 
With  carpet-bag  and  gun. 

A  week  passed  on,  and  next  we  find 

Our  native  tourist  come 
To  that  sequestered  village  called 

Genasagarnagum. 

From  thence  he  went  to  Absequoit, 
And  there — quite  tired  of  Maine — 

He  sought  the  mountains  of  Vermont, 
Upon  a  railroad  train. 

Dog  Hollow,  in  the  Green  Mount  State, 
Was  his  first  stopping-place; 

And  then  Skunk's  Misery  displayed 
Its  sweetness  and  its  grace. 

By  easy  stages  then  he  went 

To  visit  Devil's  Den; 
And  Scrabble  Hollow,  by  the  way, 

Did  come  within  his  ken. 

Then  via  Nine  Holes  and  Goose  Green 
He  travelled  through  the  State; 

And  to  Virginia,  finally, 
Was  guided  by  his  fate. 


758  Whimscy 

Within  the  Old  Dominion's  bounds, 
He  wandered  up  and  down; 

To-day  at  Buzzard's  Roost  ensconced, 
To-morrow,  at  Hell  Town. 


At  Pole  Cat,  too,  he  spent  a  week, 
Till  friends  from  Bull  Ring  came, 

And  made  him  spend  a  day  with  them 
In  hunting  forest-game. 

Then,  with  his  carpet-bag  in  hand, 
To  Dog  Town  next  he  went; 

Though  stopping  at  Free  Negro  Town, 
Where  half  a  day  he  spent. 

From  thence,  into  Negationburg 

His  route  of  travel  lay; 
Which  having  gained,  he  left  the  State, 

And  took  a  southward  way. 

North  Carolina's  friendly  soil 

He  trod  at  fall  of  night. 
And,  on  a  bed  of  softest  down. 

He  slept  at  Hell's  Delight. 

Morn  found  him  on  the  road  again. 

To  Lousy  Level  bound; 
At  Bull's  Tail,  and  Lick  Lizard,  too. 

Good  provender  he  found. 

The  country  all  about  Pinch  Gut 

So  beautiful  did  seem 
That  the  beholder  thought  it  like 

A  picture  in  a  dream. 

But  the  plantations  near  Burnt  Coat 

Were  even  finer  still, 
And  made  the  wondering  tourist  feel 

A  soft,  delicious  thrill. 


The  Zealless  X3'lographer  769 

At  Tear  Shirt,  too,  the  scenery 

Most  charming  did  appear. 
With  Snatch  It  in  the  distance  far, 

And  Purgatory  near. 

But,  spite  of  all  these  pleasant  scenes, 

The  tourist  stoutly  swore 
That  home  is  brightest,  after  all. 

And  travel  is  a  bore. 

So  back  he  went  to  Maine,  straightway ; 

A  little  wife  he  took; 
And  now  is  making  nutmegs  at 

Moosehicmagunticook. 

Robert  H.  Newell. 

THE  ZEALLESS  XYLOGRAPHER 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  END  OF  THE  DICTIONARY 

A  XYLOGRAPHER  Started  to  cross  the  sea 

By  means  of  a  Xanthic  Xebec; 
But,  alas!  he  sighed  for  the  Zuyder  Zee, 

And  feared  he  was  in  for  a  wreck. 
He  tried  to  smile,  but  all  in  vain, 

Because  of  a  Zygomatic  pain; 
And  as  for  singing,  his  cheeriest  tone 

Reminded  him  of  a  Xylophone — 
Or  else,  when  the  pain  would  sharper  grow. 

His  notes  were  as  keen  as  a  Zuffolo. 
And  so  it  is  likely  he  did  not  find 

On  board  Xenodochy  to  his  mind. 
The  fare  was  poor,  and  he  was  sure 

Xerofphagy  he  could  not  endure; 
Zoophagous  surely  he  was,  I  aver. 

This  dainty  and  starving  Xylographer. 
Xylophagous  truly  he  could  not  be — 

No  sickly  vegetarian  he! 
He'd  have  blubbered  like  any  old  Zeuglodon 

Had  Xerophthalmia  not  come  on. 
And  the  end  of  it  was  he  never  again 

In  a  Xanthic  Xebec  went  sailing  the  main. 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge. 


760  Whimsey 

THE  OLD  LINE  FENCE 

ZiG-ZAGGiNG  it  went 

On  the  line  of  the  farm, 

And  the  trouble  it  caused 

Was  often  quite  warm, 

The  old  line  fence. 
It  was  changed  every  year 
By  decree  of  the  court. 
To  which,  when  worn  out, 
Our  sires  would  resort 
With  the  old  line  fence. 
In  hoeing  their  com, 

,  When  the  sun,  too,  was  hot, 
They  surely  would  jaw, 

Punch  or  claw,  when  they  got 

To  THE   OLD  line   FENCE. 

In  dividing  the  lands 
It  fulfilled  no  desires. 
But  answered  quite  well 
In  "  dividing  "  our  sires. 
This  old  line  fence. 

Though  sometimes  in  this 
It  would  happen  to  fail. 

When,  with  top  rail  in  hand, 
One  would  flare  up  and  scale 
The  old  line  fence! 
Then  the  conflict  was  sharp 
On  debatable  ground. 
And  the  fertile  soil  there 
Would  be  mussed  far  around 
The  old  line  fence. 

It  was  shifted  so  oft 

That  no  flowers  there  grew. 
What  frownings  and  clods, 
•  And  what  words  were  shot  through 

The  old  line  fence! 
Our  sires  through  the  day 
There  would  quarrel  or  fight, 
With  a  vigour  and  vim, 
But  'twas  different  at  night 


The  Old  Line  Fence  761 

By  the  old  line  fence. 
The  fairest  maid  there 
You  would  have  descried 

That  ever  leaned  soft 
On  the  opposite  side 

Of  an  old  line  fence. 
Where  our  fathers  built  hate 
There  we  builded  our  love, 
Breathed  our  vows  to  be  true 
With  our  hands  raised  above 
The  old  line  fence. 

Its  place  might  be  changed, 
But  there  we  would  meet. 

With  our  heads  through  the  rails. 
And  with  kisses  most  sweet. 
At  the  old  line  fence. 
It  was  love  made  the  change, 
And  the  clasping  of  hands 
Ending  ages  of  hate, 
And  between  us  now  stands 
Not  a  sign  of  line  fence. 
No  debatable  ground 

Now  enkindles  alarms. 

I've  the  girl  I  met  there. 

And,  well,  both  of  the  farms. 
And   no   line   fence. 

A.  W.  Bellaw. 


0-U-G-H 

A  FRESH   HACK   AT  AN   OLD  KNOT 

I'm  taught  p-1-o-u-g-h 

S'all  be  pronounce  "  plow.'' 

"  Zat's  easy  w'en  you  know,"  I  say, 
"  Mon  Anglais,  I'll  get  through!  " 

My  teacher  say  zat  in  zat  case, 

0-u-g-h  is  "  00." 
And  zen  I  laugh  and  say  to  him, 

"  Zees  Anglais  make  me  cough." 


762  Whimsey 

He  say  "  Not '  coo,'  but  in  zat  word, 

0-u-g-h  is  '  oflF,'  " 
Oh,  Sacre  bleu!  such  varied  sounds 

Of  words  makes  me  hiccough ! 


He  say,  "  Again  mon  f  rien'  ees  wrong ; 

0-u-g-h  is  '  up  " 
In  hiccough."    Zen  I  cry,  "  No  more. 

You  make  my  t'roat  feel  rough." 

"  Non,  non !  "  he  cry,  "  you  are  not  right; 

0-u-g-h  is  '  uS:  " 
I  say,  "  I  try  to  spik  your  words, 

I  cannot  spik  zem  though ! " 

"  Tn  time  you'll  learn,  but  now  you're  wrong ! 

0-u-g-h  is  '  owe.' " 
"I'll  try  no  more,  I  s'all  go  mad, 

I'll  drown  me  in  ze  lough !  " 

"  But  ere  you  drown  yourself,"  said  he, 

"  0-u-g-h  is  '  ock.'  " 
He  taught  no  more,  I  held  him  fast, 

And  killed  him  wiz  a  rough. 

Charles  Bat  tell  Loomis. 


ENIGMA  ON  THE  LETTER  H 

'TwAS  whispered  in  heaven,  'twas  muttered  in  hell. 
And  echo  caught  faintly  the  sound  as  it  fell; 
On  the  confines  of  earth  'twas  permitted  to  rest, 
And  the  depths  of  the  ocean  its  presence  confessed; 
'Twill  be-found  in  the  sphere  when  'tis  riven  asunder. 
Be  seen  in  the  lightning,  and  heard  in  the  thunder. 
'Twas  allotted  to  man  with  his  earliest  breath. 
It  assists  at  his  birth  and  attends  him  in  death. 
Presides  o'er  his  happiness,  honor,  and  health. 
Is  the  prop  of  his  house  and  the  end  of  his  wealth. 


Travesty  of  Miss  Fanshawe's  Enigma         763 

In  the  heaps  of  the  miser  is  hoarded  with  care, 
But  is  sure  to  be  lost  in  his  prodigal  heir. 
It  begins  every  hope,  every  wish  it  must  bound, 
It  prays  with  the  hermit,  with  monarchs  is  crowned; 
Without  it  the  soldier,  the  sailor,  may  roam. 
But  woe  to  the  wretch  who  expels  it  from  home. 
In  the  whisper  of  conscience  'tis  sure  to  be  found. 
Nor  e'en  in  the  whirlwind  of  passion  is  drowned; 
'Twill  soften  the  heart,  but,  though  deaf  to  the  ear. 
It  will  make  it  acutely  and  instantly  hear; 
But,  in  short,  let  it  rest  like  a  delicate  flower; 
Oh,  breathe  on  it  softly,  it  dies  in  an  hour. 

Catherine  Fanshawe. 


TKAVESTY  OF  MISS  FANSHAWE'S  ENIGMA 

I  DWELLS  in  the  Hearth,  and  I  breathes  in  the  Hair; 

If  you  searches  the  Hocean,  you'll  find  that  I'm  there.      !l 

The  first  of  all  Hangels  in  Holympus  am  Hi, 

Yet  I'm  banished  from  'Eaven,  expelled  from  on  'igh. 

But,  though  on  this  Horb  I'm  destined  to  grovel, 

I'm  ne'er  seen  in  an  'Ouse,  in  an  'Ut,  nor  an  'Ovel. 

Not  an  'Orse,  not  an  'Unter  e'er  bears  me,  alas! 

But  often  I'm  found  on  the  top  of  a  Hass. 

I  resides  in  a  Hattic,  and  loves  not  to  roam. 

And  yet  I'm  invariably  absent  from  'Ome. 

Though  'Ushed  in  the  'Urricane,  of  the  Hatmosphere  part, 

I  enters  no  'Ed,  I  creeps  into  no  'Art. 

Only  look,  and  you'll  see  in  the  Heye  Hi  appear; 

Only  'Ark,  and  you'll  'Ear  me  just  breathe  in  the  Hear. 

Though  in  sex  not  an  'E,  I  am  (strange  paradox) 

Not  a  bit  of  an  'Effer,  but  partly  a  Hox. 

Of  Heternity  I'm  the  beginning!  and,  mark. 

Though  I  goes  not  with  Noar,  I'm  first  in  the  Hark. 

I'm  never  in  'Ealth,  have  with  Fysic  no  power, 

I  dies  in  a  month,  but  comes  back  in  a  Hour. 

Horace  Mayhew. 


764  Whimsey 

AN  ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MAD  DOG 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort, 

Give  ear  unto  my  song; 
And  if  you  find  it  wondrous  short, — 

It  cannot  hold  you  long. 

In  Islington  there  was  a  man. 

Of  whom  the  world  might  say 
That  still  a  godly  race  he  ran, — 

Whene'er  he  went  to  pray. 

A  kind  and  gentle  heart  he  had. 

To  comfort  friends  and  foes; 
The  naked  every  day  he  clad, — 

When  he  put  on  his  clothes. 

And  in  that  town  a  dog  was  found. 

As  many  dogs  there  be. 
Both  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp,  and  hound. 

And  curs  of  low  degree. 

The  dog  and  man  at  first  were  friends ; 

But  when  a  pique  began. 
The  dog,  to  gain  some  private  ends. 

Went  mad,  and  bit  the  man. 

Around  from  all  the  neighboring  streets, 

The  wondering  neighbors  ran. 
And  swore  the  dog  had  lost  his  wits 

To  bite  so  good  a  man. 

The  wound  it  seemed  both  sore  and  sad 

To  every  Christian  eye; 
And  while  they  swore  the  dog  was  mad 

They  swore  the  man  would  die. 

But  soon  a  wonder  came  to  light, 
That  showed  the  rogues  they  lied; 

The  man  recovered  of  the  bite. 
The  dog  it  was  that  died. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


I 


An  Epitaph  765 

AN  EPITAPH 

Interred  beneath  this  marble  stone 

Lie  sauntering  Jack  and  idle  Joan. 

While  rolling  threescore  years  and  one 

Did  round  this  globe  their  courses  run. 

If  human  things  went  ill  or  well, 

If  changing  empires  rose  or  fell, 

The  morning  past,  the  evening  came, 

And  found  this  couple  just  the  same. 

They  walked  and  ate,  good  folks.    What  then? 

Why,  then  they  walked  and  ate  again ; 

They  soundly  slept  the  night  away; 

They  did  just  nothing  all  the  day. 

Nor  sister  either  had,  nor  brother ; 

They  seemed  just  tallied  for  each  other. 

Their  moral  and  economy 

Most  perfectly  they  made  agree; 

Each  virtue  kept  its  proper  bound. 

Nor  trespassed  on  the  other's  ground. 

Nor  fame  nor  censure  they  regarded ; 

They  neither  punished  nor  rewarded. 

He  cared  not  what  the  footman  did ; 

Her  maids  she  neither  praised  nor  chid; 

So  every  servant  took  his  course. 

And,  bad  at  first,  they  all  grew  worse; 

Slothful  disorder  filled  his  stable. 

And  sluttish  plenty  decked  her  table. 

Their  beer  was  strong,  their  wine  was  port; 

Their  meal  was  large,  their  grace  was  short. 

They  gave  the  poor  the  remnant  meat, 

Just  when  it  grew  not  fit  to  eat. 

They  paid  the  church  and  parish  rate, 

And  took,  but  read  not,  the  receipt; 

For  which  they  claimed  their  Sunday's  due 

Of  slumbering  in  an  upper  pew. 

No  man's  defects  sought  they  to  know. 

So  never  made  themselves  a  foe. 

No  man's  good  deeds  did  they  commend, 

So  never  raised  themselves  a  friend. 


766  Whimsey 

Nor  cherished  they  relations  poor, 

That  might  decrease  their  present  store; 

Nor  barn  nor  house  did  they  repair, 

That  might  oblige  their  future  heir. 

They  neither  added  nor  confounded; 

They  neither  wanted  nor  abounded. 

Nor  tear  nor  smile  did  they  employ 

At  news  of  grief  or  public  joy 

When  bells  were  rung  and  bonfires  made, 

If  asked,  they  ne'er  denied  their  aid; 

Their  jug  was  to  the  ringers  carried. 

Whoever  either  died  or  married. 

Their  billet  at  the  fire  was  found, 

Whoever  was  deposed  or  crowned. 

Nor  good,  nor  bad,  nor  fools,  nor  wise; 

They  would  not  learn,  nor  could  advise; 

Without  love,  hatred,  joy,  or  fear, 

They  led — a  kind  of — as  it  were ; 

Nor  wished,  nor  cared,  nor  laughed,  nor  cried. 

And  so  they  lived,  and  so  they  died. 

Matthew  Prior. 


OLD  GRIMES 

Old  Grimes  is  dead ;  that  good  old  man 

We  never  shall  see  more: 
He  used  to  wear  a  long,  black  coat. 

All  button'd  down  before. 


His  heart  was  open  as  the  day. 
His  feelings  all  were  true ; 

His  hair  was  some  inclined  to  gray — 
He  wore  it  in  a  queue. 

Whene'er  he  heard  the  voice  of  pain, 
His  breast  with  pity  burn'd ; 

The  large,  round  head  upon  his  cane 
From  ivory  was  turn'd. 


Old  Grimes  767 

Kind  words  he  ever  had  for  all ; 

He  knew  no  base  design: 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  rather  small, 

His  nose  was  aquiline. 

He  lived  at  peace  with  all  mankind, 

In  friendship  he  was  true: 
His  coat  had  pocket-holes  behind. 

His  pantaloons  were  blue. 

Unharm'd,  the  sin  which  earth  pollutes 

He  pass'd  securely  o'er, 
And  never  wore  a  pair  of  boots 

For  thirty  years  or  more. 

But  good  old  Grimes  is  now  at  rest. 

Nor  fears  misfortune's  frown : 
He  wore  a  double-breasted  vest — 

The  stripes  ran  up  and  down. 

He  modest  merit  sought  to  find. 

Any  pay  it  its  desert: 
He  had  no  malice  in  his  mind. 

No  ruffles  on  his  shirt. 

His  neighbors  he  did  not  abuse — 

Was  sociable  and  gay : 
He  wore  large  buckles  on  his  shoes, 

And  changed  them  every  day. 

His  knowledge,  hid  from  public  gaze. 

He  did  not  bring  to  view, 
Nor  made  a  noise,  town-meeting  days. 

As  many  people  do. 

His  worldly  goods  he  never  threw 

In  trust  to  fortune's  chances, 
But  lived  (as  all  his  brothers  do) 

In  easy  circumstaneeB. 


768  Whimsey 

Thus  undisturbed  by  anxious  cares. 

His  peaceful  moments  ran; 
And  everybody  said  he  was 

A  fine  old  gentleman. 

Albert  Gorton  Greene. 


THE  ENDLESS  SONG 

Oh,  I  used  to  sing  a  song, 
An'  dey  said  it  was  too  long, 
So  I  cut  it  off  de  en' 
To  accommodate  a  frien' 

Nex'  do',  nex'  do' — 
To  accommodate  a  frien'  nex'  do'. 

But  it  made  de  matter  wliss 
Dan  it  had  been  at  de  fus, 
'Ca'ze  de  en'  was  gone,  an'  den 
Co'se  it  didn't  have  no  en' 

Any  mo',  any  mo' — 
Oh,  it  didn't  have  no  en'  any  mo'! 

So,  to  save  my  frien'  from  sinnin', 
I  cut  off  de  song's  beginnin' ; 
Still  he  cusses  right  along 
Whilst  I  sings  about  my  song 
Jes  so,  jes  so — 
Whilst  I  sings  about  my  song  jes  so. 

How  to  please  'im  is  my  riddle. 
So  I'll  fall  back  on  my  fiddle; 
For  I'd  Stan'  myself  on  en' 
To  accommodate  a  frien' 

Nex'  do',  nex'  do' — 
To  accommodate  a  frien'  nex'  do'. 

Ruth  McEnery  Stuart. 


The  Hundred  Best  Books  769 


THE  HUNDRED  BEST  BOOKS 

First  there's  the  Bible, 

And  then  the  Koran, 
Odgers  on  Libel, 

Pope's  Essay  on  Man, 
Confessions  of  Rousseau, 

The  Essays  of  Lamb, 
Robinson  Crusoe 

And  Omar  Khayyam, 
Volumes  of  Shelley 

And  Venerable  Bede, 
Machiavelli 

And  Captain  Mayne  Reid, 
Fox  upon  Martyrs 

And  Liddell  and  Scott, 
Stubbs  on  the  Charters, 

The  works  of  La  Motte, 
The  Seasons  by  Thomson, 

And  Paul  de  Verlaine, 
Theodore  Mommsen 

And  Clemens  (Mark  Twain), 
The  Rocks  of  Hugh  Miller, 

The  Mill  on  the  Floss, 
The  Poems  of  Schiller, 

The  Iliados, 
Don  Quixote  (Cervantes), 

La  Pucelle  by  Voltaire, 
Inferno  (that's  Dante's), 

And  Vanity  Fair, 
Conybeare-Howson, 

Brillat-Savarin, 
And  Baron  Munchausen, 

Mademoiselle  De  Maupin, 
The  Dramas  of  Marlowe, 

The  Three  Musketeers, 
Clarissa  Harlowe, 

And  the  Pioneers, 
Sterne's  Tristram  Shandy, 

The  Ring  and  the  Book, 


770  Whimsey 

And  Handy  Andy, 

And  Captain  Cook, 
The  Plato  of  Jowett, 

And  Mill's  Pol.  Econ., 
The  Haunts  of  Howitt, 

The  Encheiridion, 
Lothair  by  Disraeli, 

And  Boccaccio, 
The  Student's  Paley, 

And  Westward  Ho! 
The  Pharmacopoeia, 

Macaulay's  Lays, 
Of  course  The  Medea, 

And  Sheridan's  Plays, 
The  Odes  of  Horace, 

And  Verdant  Green, 
The  Poems  of  Morris, 

The  Faery  Queen, 
The  Stones  of  Venice, 

Natural  History  (White's), 
And  then  Pendennis, 

The  Arabian  Nights, 
Cicero's  Orations, 

Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills, 
The  Wealth  of  Nations, 

And  Byles  on  Bills, 
As  in  a  Glass  Darkly, 

Demosthenes'  Crown, 
The  Treatise  of  Berkeley, 

Tom  Hughes's  Tom  Brown, 
The  Mahabharata, 

The  Humour  of  Hook, 
The  Kreutzer  Sonata, 

And  Lalla  Kookh, 
Great  Battles  by  Creasy, 

And  Hudibras, 
And  Midshipman  Easy, 

And  Easselas, 
Shakespeare  in  extenso 

And  the  ^neid, 
And  Euclid  (Colenso), 


The  Cosmic  Egg  771 

The  Woman  who  Did, 
Poe's  Tales  of  Mystery, 

Then  Rabelais, 
Guizot's  French  History, 

And  Men  of  the  Day, 
Rienzi,  by  Lytton, 

The  Poems  of  Bums, 
The  Story  of  Britain, 

The  Journey  (that's  Sterne's),. 
The  House  of  Seven  Gables, 

Carroll's  Looking-glass, 
j^sop  his  Fables, 

And  Leaves  of  Grass, 
Departmental  Ditties, 

The  Woman  in  White, 
The  Tale  of  Two  Cities, 

Ships  that  Pass  in  the  Night,  . 
Meredith's  Feverel, 

Gibbon's  Decline, 
Walter  Scott's  Peveril, 

And — some  verses  of  mine. 

Mostyn  T.  Pigott. 


THE  COSMIC  EGG 

Upon  a  rock,  yet  uncreate. 

Amid  a  chaos  inchoate. 

An  uncreated  being  sate; 

Beneath  him,  rock. 

Above  him,  cloud. 

And  the  cloud  was  rock. 

And  the  rock  was  cloud. 

The  rock  then  growing  soft  and  warm. 

The  cloud  began  to  take  a  form, 

A  form  chaotic,  vast  and  vague, 

Which  issued  in  the  cosmic  egg. 

Then  the  Being  uncreate 

On  the  em  ^^^  incubate, 

And  thus  became  the  incubator; 


772  Whimsey 

And  of  the  egg  did  allegate, 
And  thus  became  the  alligator; 
And  the  incubator  was  potentate, 
But  the  alligator  was  potentator. 


Unknown. 


FIVE  WINES 

Brisk  methinks  I  am,  and  fine 
When  I  drink  my  cap' ring  wine; 
Then  to  love  I  do  incline, 
When  I  drink  my  wanton  wine; 
And  I  wish  all  maidens  mine. 
When  I  drink  my  sprightly  wine; 
Well  I  sup  and  well  I  di^e, 
When  I  drink  my  frolic  wine; 
But  I  languish,  lower,  and  pine, 
When  I  want  my  fragrant  wine. 

Robert  Herrick. 


A  KHYME  FOR  MUSICIANS 

Handel,  Bendel,  Mendelssohn, 
Brendel,  Wendel,  Jadassohn, 
Miiller,  Hiller,  Heller,  Franz, 
Plothow,  Flotow,  Burto,  Ganz. 


Meyer,  Geyer,  Meyerbeer, 

Heyer,  Weyer,  Beyer,  Beer, 

Lichner,  Lachner,  Schachner,  Dietz, 

Hill,  Will,  Brull,  Grill,  Drill,  Reiss,  Rietz. 


Hansen,  Jan  sen,  Jensen,  Kiehl, 
Siade,  Gade,  Laade,  Stiehl, 
Naumann,  Riemann,  Diener,  Wurst, 
Niemann,  Kiemann,  Diener,  Furst. 


My  Madeline  773 

Kochler,  Dochler,  Rubinstein, 
Himmel,  Hummel,  Rosenhain, 
Lauer,  Bauer,  Kleinecke, 
Homberg,  Plomberg,  Reinecke. 

E.  Lemke. 


MY  MADELINE 

SERENADE  IN   M    FLAT 

SUNG  BY  MAJOR  MARMADUKE   MUTTONHEAD  TO 
MADEMOISELLE  MADELINE   MENDOZA 

My  Madeline!  my  Madeline! 

Mark  my  melodious  midnight  moans; 
Much  may  my  melting  music  mean, 

My  modulated  monotones. 

My  mandolin's  mild  minstrelsy. 
My  mental  music  magazine. 

My  mouth,  my  mind,  my  memory. 
Must  mingling  murmur  "  Madeline !  " 

Muster  'mid  midnight  masquerades, 
Mark  Moorish  maidens,  matrons'  mien; 

'Mongst  Murcia's  most  majestic  maids, 
Match  me  my  matchless  Madeline. 

Mankind's  malevolence  may  make 
Much  melancholy  musing  mine; 

Many  my  motives  may  mistake. 
My  modest  merits  much  malign. 

My  Madeline's  most  mirthful  mood 
Much  mollifies  my  mind's  machine, 

My  mournfulness's  magnitude 

Melts — make  me  merry,  Madeline! 

Match-making  mas  may  machinate, 
Manoeuvring  misses  me  mis-ween; 

Mere  money  may  make  many  mate. 
My  magic  motto's  "  Madeline !  " 


774  Whimsey 

Melt,    most    mellifluous    melody, 

'Midst  Murcia's  misty  mounts  marine; 

Meet  me  'mid  moonlight;  marry  me, 
Madonna  mia!  my  Madeline! 


Walter  Parke. 


SUSAN  SIMPSON 

Sudden  swallows  swiftly  skimming, 

Sunset's    slowly   spreading,  shade. 
Silvery  songsters  sweetly  singing, 

Summer's  soothing  serenade, 

Susan   Simpson   strolled  sedately. 

Stifling  sobs,  suppressing  sighs. 
Seeing  Stephen   Slocum,  stately 

She  stopped,  showing  some  surprise. 

"Say,"  said  Stephen,  "sweetest  sigher; 

Say,  shall  Stephen  spouseless  stay  ? " 
Susan,  seeming  somewhat  shyer. 

Showed   submissiveness   straightway. 

Summer's  season  slowly  stretches, 

Susan   Simpson   Slocum   she — 
So  she  signed  some  simple  sketches — 

Soul  sought  soul  successfully. 

Six    Septembers   Susan    swelters; 

Six  sharp  seasons  snow  supplies; 
Susan's   satin    sofa    shelters 

Six  small  Slocums  side  by  side. 

Unknown. 


The  March  to  Moscow  775 


THE   MAKCH   TO   MOSCOW 

The  Emperor  Nap  he  would  set  off 

On  a  summer  excursion  to  Moscow; 

The  fields  were  green  and  the  sky  was  blue, 

Morbleu !     Parbleu ! 

What  a  splendid  excursion  to  Moscow! 

Eour  hundred  thousand  men  and  more 

Must  go  with  him  to  Moscow: 
There   were   Marshals   by   the   dozen, 

And  Dukes  by  the  score; 
Princes  a  few,  and  Kings  one  or  two; 
While  the  fields  are  so  green,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
What  a  pleasant  excursion  to  Moscow! 

There  was  Junot  and  Augereau, 

Heigh-ho   for   Moscow! 
Dombrowsky  and  Poniatowsky, 

Marshall  Ney,  lack-a-day! 
General  Rapp,  and  the  Emperor  Nap; 

Nothing  would  do. 
While  the  fields  were  so  green,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 

Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 

Nothing  would  do 
For  the  whole  of  his  crew, 
But  they  must  be  marching  to  Moscow. 

The  Emperor  Nap  he  talk'd  so  big 
That  he  frighten'd  Mr.   Roscoe. 
John  Bull,  he  cries,  if  you'll  be  wise, 
Ask  the  Emperor  Nap  if  he  will  please 
To  grant  you  peace  upon  your  knees, 
Because  he  is  going  to  Moscow! 
He'll  make  all  the  Poles  come  out  of  their  holes, 
And  beat  the  Russians,  and  eat  the  Prussians; 
For  the  fields  are  green,  and  the  sky  is  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
And  he'll  certainly  march  to  Moscow! 


776  Whimsey 

And  Counsellor  Brougham  was  all  in  a  fume 
At  the  thought  of  the  march  to  Moscow: 
The  Russians,  he  said,  they  were  undone, 
And  the  great  Fee-Faw-Fum 
Would  presently  come. 
With  a  hop,  step,  and  jump,  unto  London, 
For,  as  for  his  conquering  Russia, 
However  some  persons  might  scoff  it, 
Do  it  he  could,  do  it  he  would. 
And  from  doing  it  nothing  would  come  but  good. 

And  nothing  could  call  him  off  it. 
Mr.  Jeffrey  said  so,  who  must  certainly  know, 

For  he  was  the  Edinburgh  Prophet. 

They  all  of  them  knew  Mr.  Jeffrey's  Review, 

Which  with  Holy  Writ  ought  to  be  reckon'd: 

It  was,  through  thick  and  thin,  to  its  party  true. 

Its  back  was  buff,  and  its  sides  were  blue, 

Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
It  served  them  for  law  and  for  gospel  too. 

But  the  Russians  stoutly  they  turned  to 

Upon  the  road  to  Moscow. 
Nap  had  to  fight  his  way  all  through; 
They  could  fight,  though  they  could  not  parlez-vous; 
But  the  fields  were  green,  and  the  sky  was  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
And  so  he  got  to  Moscow. 

He  found  the  place  too  warm  for  him. 

For  they   set  fire  to   Moscow. 
To  get  there  had  cost  him  much  ado, 
And  then  no  better  course  he  knew 
While  the  fields  were  green,  and  the  sky  was  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
But  to  march  back  again  from  Moscow. 

The  Russians  they  stuck  close  to  him 

All  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 
There  was  Tormazow  and.  Jemalow, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  ow; 
Milarodovitch  and  Jaladovitch, 


The  March  to  Moscow  777 

And   Karatschkowitch, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  itch; 
Schamscheff,    Souchosaneff, 
And  Schepaleff, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  eff: 
Wasiltschikoff,    Kotsomaroff, 
And  Tchoglokoff, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  off; 
Kajeffsky,   and   Novereffsky, 
And  Rieffsky, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  effsky; 

Oscharoffsky  and  Rostoffsky, 
And  all  the  others  that  end  in  offsky; 
And  Platoff  he  play'd  them  off, 
And  Shouvaloff  he  shovell'd  them  off, 
And  Markoff  he  mark'd   them  off, 
And  Krosnoff  he  cross'd  them  off, 
And  Touehkoff  he  touch'd  them  off. 
And  Boroskoff  he  bored  them  off, 
And  Kutousoff  he  cut  them  off, 
And  Parenzoff  he  pared  them  off, 
And  Worronzoff  he  worried  them  off. 
And  Doctoroff  he  doctor'd  them  off, 
And  Rodinoff  he  flogg'd  them  off. 
And,  last  of  all,  an  Admiral  came, 
A  terrible  man  with  a  terrible  name, 
A  name  which  you  all  know  by  sight  very  well, 
But  which  no  one  can  speak,  and  no  one  can  spell. 
They  stuck  close  to  Nap  with  all  their  might; 

They  were  on  the  left  and  on  the  right 
Behind  and  before,  and  by  day  and  by  night; 
He  would  rather  parlez-vous  than  fight; 
But  he  look'd  white,  and  he  look'd  blue. 

Morbleu!    Parbleu! 

When  parlez-vous  no  more  would  do. 

For  they  remember'd  Moscow. 

And  then  came  on  the  frost  and  snow 
All  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 
The  wind  and  the  weather  he  found,  in  that  hour, 
Cared  nothing  for  him,  nor  for  all  his  power; 


778  Whimsey 

For  him  who,  while  Europe  crouch'd  under  his  rod. 
Put  his  trust  in  his  Fortune,  and  not  in  his  God. 
Worse  and  worse  every  day  the  elements  grew, 
.  The  fields  were  so  white  and  the  ^ky  was  so  blue, 
Sacrebleu !     Ventrebleu ! 
What  a  horrible  journey  from  Moscow! 

What  then  thought  the  Emperor  Nap 
Upon  the  road  from  Moscow? 
Why,  I  ween  he  thought  it  small  delight 
To  fight  all  day,  and  to  freeze  all  night; 
And  he  was  besides  in  a  very  great  fright, 
For  a  whole  skin  he  liked  to  be  in; 
And  so  not  knowing  what  else  to  do. 
When  the  fields  were  so  white,  and  the  sky  so  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
He  stole  away, — I  tell  you  true, — 
Upon   the   road  from   Moscow. 
'Tis  myself,  quoth  he,  T  must  mind  most; 
So  the  devil  may  take  the  hindmost. 

Too  cold  upon  the  road  was  he; 
Too  hot  had  he  been  at  Moscow; 
But  colder  and  hotter  he  may  be. 
For  the  grave  is  colder  than  Moscovy; 
And  a  place  there  is  to  be  kept  in  view, 
Where  the  fire  is  red,  and  the  brimstone  blue, 
Morbleu !    Parbleu ! 
Which  he  must  go  to, 
If  the  Pope  say  true. 
If  he  does  not  in  time  look  about  him; 
Where  his  namesake  almost 
He  may  have  for  his  Host; 
He  has  reckon'd  too  long  without  him; 
If  that  Host  get  him  in  Purgatory, 
He  won't  leave  him  there  alone  with  his  glory; 
But  there  he  must  stay  for  a  very  long  day, 
For  from  thence  there  is  no  stealing  away. 
As  there  was  on  the  road  from  Moscow. 

Robert  Southey, 


Half  Hours  with  the  Clfissics  779 


HALF  HOURS  WITH  THE  CLASSICS 

Ah,  those  hours  when  by-gone  sages 
Led  our  thoughts  through  Learning's  ways, 

When  the  wit  of  sunnier  ages, 

Called  once  more  to  Earth  the  days 

When  rang  through  Athens'  vine-hung  lanes 

Thy  wild,  wild  laugh,  Aristophanes! 

Pensive  through  the  land  of  Lotus, 

Sauntered  we  by  Nilus'  side; 
Garrulous   old   Herodotus 

Still  our  mentor,  still  our  guide, 
Prating  of  the  mystic  bliss 
Of  Isis  and  of  Osiris. 

All  the  learned  ones  trooped  before  us, 

All  the  wise  of  Hellas'  land, 
Down  from  mythic  Pythagoras, 

To  the  hemlock  drinker  grand. 
Dark  the  hour  that  closed  the  gates 
Of  gloomy  Dis  on  thee,  Socrates. 

Ah,  those  hours  of  tend'rest  study, 

When  Electra's  poet  told 
Of  Love's  cheek  once  warm  and  ruddy, 

Pale  with  grief,  with  death  chill  cold  I 
Sobbing  low   like   summer  tides 
Flow  thy  verses,  Euripides! 

High  our  hearts  beat  when  Cicero 

Shook  the  Capitolian  dome; 
How  we  shuddered,  watching  Nero 

'Mid  the  glare  of  blazing  Rome! 
How  those  records  still  affright  us 
On  thy  gloomy  page,  Tacitus! 

Back  to  youth  I  seem  to  glide,  as 
I  recall  those  by-gone  scenes, 


780  Whimscy  C 

When  we  conned  o'er  Thucydides, 
Or  recited  Demosthenes. 

l'envoi 
Ancient  sages,  pardon  these 
Somewhat  doubtful  quantities. 

H.  J.  DeBurgh. 


ON  THE  OXFORD  CARRIER 

Here  lieth  one,  who  did  most  truly  prove 

That  he  could  never  die  while  he  could  more; 

So  hung  his  destiny  never  to  rot 

While  he  might  still  jog  on  and  keep  his  trot; 

Made  of  sphere  metal,  never  to  decay 

Until  his  revolution  was  at  stay. 

Time  numbers  motion,  yet  (without  a  crime 

'Gainst  old  truth)   motion  number'd  out  his  time 

And  like  an  engine  moved  with  wheel  and  weight. 

His  principles  being  ceased,   he  ended   straight. 

Rest,  that  gives  all  men  life,  gave  him  his  death, 

And  too  much  breathing  put  him  out  of  breath; 

Nor  were  it  contradiction  to  affirm. 

Too  long  vacation  hastened  on  his  term. 

Merely  to  drive  the  time  away  he  sickened. 

Fainted,  and  died,  nor  would  with  ale  be  quicken'd; 

"  Nay,"  quoth  he,  on  his  swooning  bed  outstretch'd, 

"If  I  mayn't  carry,  sure  I'll  ne'er  be  fetch'd. 

But  vow,  though  the  cross  doctors  all  stood  hearers. 

For  one  carrier  put  down  to  make  six  bearers." 

Ease  was  his  chief  disease;  and  to  judge  right. 

He  died  for  heaviness  that  his  cart  went  light: 

His  leisure  told  Tiim  that  his  time  was  come. 

And  lack  of  load  made  his  life  burdensome. 

That  even  to  his  last  breath  (there  be  that  say't), 

As  he  were  press'd  to  death,  he  cried,  "More  weight;" 

But,  had  his  doings  lasted  as  they  were, 

He  had  been  an  immortal  carrier. 

Obedient  to  the  moon  he  spent  his  date 

In  course  reciprocal,  and  had  his  fate 


I 


Ninety-nine  in   the  Shade  781 

Link'd  to  the  mutual  flowing  of  the  seas, 

Yet   (strange  to  think)   his  wane  was  his  increase: 

His  letters  are  deliver'd   all,   and  gone, 

Only  remains  the  superscription. 

John  Milton. 


NINETY-NINE  IN  THE  SHADE 

O  FOR  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers! 

O  for  an  iceberg  or  two  at  control! 
O  for  a  vale  which  at  mid-day  the  dew  cumbers! 

O  for  a  pleasure-trip  up  to  the  pole! 

O  for  a  little  one-story  thermometer, 

With  nothing  but  zeroes  all  ranged  in  a  row! 

O  for  a  big  double-barreled  hygrometer, 

To  measure  this  moisture  that  rolls  from  my  brow ! 

O  that  this  cold  world  were  twenty  times  colder! 

(That's   irony   red-hot   it   seemeth   to   me) ; 
O  for  a  turn  of  its  dreaded  cold  shoulder! 

O  what  a  comfort  an  ague  would  be! 

O  for  a  grotto  frost-lined  and  rill-riven, 

Scooped  in  the  rock  under  cataract  vast! 
O  for  a  winter  of  discontent  even ! 

O  for  wet  blankets  judiciously  cast! 

O  for  a  soda-fount  spouting  up  boldly 

From  every  hot  lamp-post  against  the  hot  sky! 

O  for  proud  maiden  to  look  on  me  coldly, 
Freezing  my  soul  with  a  glance  of  her  eye! 

Then  O  for  a  draught  from  a  cup  of  cold  pizen, 
And  O  for  a  resting-place  in  the  cold  grave! 

With  a  bath  in  the  Styx  where  the  thick-  shadow  lies  on 
And  deepens  the  chill  of  its  dark-running  wave. 

Rossiter  Johnson. 


782  Whimsey 


THE  TEIOLET 

Easy  is  the  triolet,    . 

If  you  really  learn  to  make  it! 
Once  a  neat  refrain  you  get, 
Easy  is  the  triolet. 
As  you  see! — I  pay  my  debt 

With  another  rhyme.     Deuce  take  it. 
Easy  is  the  triolet. 

If  you  really  learn  to  make  it! 

William  Ernest  Henley. 


THE  KONDEAU 

You  bid  me  try.  Blue-eyes,  to  write 

A  Kondeau.     What!   forthwith?— to-night? 

Reflect?     Some  skill  I  have,  'tis  true; 

But  thirteen  lines! — and  rhymed  on  two! — 
"Refrain,"  as  well.     Ah,  hapless  plight! 

Still  there  are  five  lines — ranged  aright. 
These  Gallic  bonds,  I  feared,  would  fright 
My  easy  Muse.     They  did,  till  you — 

You  bid  me  try! 

That  makes  them  eight. — The  port's  in  sight; 
'Tis  all  because  your  eyes  are  bright! 
Now  just  a  pair  to  end  in  "  oo," — 
When  maids  command,  what  can't  we  do? 
Behold!     The  Rondeau — tasteful,  light — 

You  bid  me  try! 

Austin  Dohson. 


Life  783 


LIFEi 


1.  Why  all  this  toil  for  triumphs  of  an  hour? 

2.  Life's  a  short  summer,  man  a  flower. 

3.  By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath  and  die — 

4.  The  cradle  and  the  tomb,  alas!  so  nigh. 

5.  To  be,  is  better  far  than  not  to  be. 

6.  Though  all  man's  life  may  seem  a  tragedy; 

7.  But  light  cares  speak  when  mighty  griefs  are  dumb, 

8.  The  bottom  is  but  shallow  whence  they  come. 

9.  Your  fate  is  but  the  common  lot  of  all: 

10.  Unmingled  joys  here  to  no  man  befall, 

11.  Nature  to  each  allots  his  proper  sphere; 

12.  Fortune  makes  folly  her  peculiar  care; 

13.  Custom  does   often   reason   overrule, 

14.  And  throw  a  cruel  sunshine  on  a  fool. 

15.  Live  well;  how  long  or  short,  permit  to  Heaven; 

16.  They  who  forgive  most,  shall  be  most  forgiven. 

17.  Sin  may  be  clasped  so  close  we  cannot  see  its  face — 

18.  Vile  intercourse  where  virtue  has  no  place. 

19.  Then  keep  each  passion  down,  however  dear; 

20.  Thou  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear. 

21.  Her  sensual  snares,  let  faithless  pleasure  lay, 

22.  With  craft  and  skill,  to  ruin  and  betray; 

23.  Soar  not  too  high  to  fall,  but  stoop  to  rise. 

24.  We  masters  grow  of  all  that  we  despise. 

25.  Oh,  then,  renounce  that  impious  self-esteem; 

26.  Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream. 

27.  Think  not  ambition  wise  because  'tis  brave, 

28.  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

29.  What  is  ambition? — 'tis  a  glorious  cheat! — 

30.  Only  destructive  to  the  brave  and  great; 

^  I.  Young;  2.  Dr.  Johnson;  3.  Pope;  4-  Prior;  5.  Sewell ; 
6.  Spenser;  7.  Daniell ;  8.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh;  9.  Longfellow; 
10.  Southwell;  11.  Congreve;  12.  Churchill;  13.  Rochester;  14. 
Armstrong;  15.  Milton;  t6.  Bailey;  17.  Trench;  18.  Somerville ; 
19.  Thomson;  20.  Byron;  21.  Smollett;  22.  Crabbe;  23.  Mas- 
singer;  24.  Cowley;  25.  Beattie;  26.  Cowper;  27.  Sir  Walter 
Davenant;  28.  Gray;  29.  Willis:  30.  Addison;  31.  Dryden ;  32. 
Francis  Quarles ;  33.  Watkins;  34.  Herrick ;  35.  William  Mason; 
36.  Hill;  37.  Dana;  38.  Shakespeare. 


784j  Whimsey 

31.  What's  all  the  gaudy  glitter  of  a  crown? 

32.  The  way  to  bliss  lies  not  on  beds  of  down. 

33.  How  long  we  live,  not  years  but  actions  tell; 

34.  That  man  lives  twice  who  lives  the  first  life  well. 

35.  Make,  then,  while  yet  ye  may,  your  God  your  friend, 

36.  Whom  Christians  worship  yet  not  comprehend. 

37.  The  trust  that's  given  guard,  and  to  yourself  be  just; 

38.  For,  live  we  how  we  can,  yet  die  we  must. 

Unknown. 


ODE  TO  THE  HUMAN  HEAKT 

Blind  Thamyris,  and  blind  Mseonides, 

Pursue  the  triumph  and  partake  the  gale! 

Drop  tears  as  fast  as  the  Arabian  trees. 
To  point  a  moral  or  adorn' a  tale. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 

Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears, 

Like  angels'  visits,  few  and  far  between. 
Deck  the  long  vista  of  departed  years. 

Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  bless'd; 

The  tenth  transmitter   of   a  foolish  face, 
Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest. 

And  makes  a  sunshine  in  the  shady  place. 

For  man  the  hermit  sigh'd,  till  woman  smiled. 
To  waft  a  feather  or  to  drown  a  fly, 

(In  wit  a  man,  simplicity  a  child,) 
With  silent  finger  pointing  to  the  sky. 

But  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 
Far  out  amid  the  melancholy  main ; 

As  when   a  vulture  on  Tmaus  bred. 
Dies  of  a  rose  in  aromatic  pain. 

Laman  B  Ian  chard 


A  Strike  Among  the  Poets  785 


A  STKIKE  AMONG  THE  POETS 

In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying, 

While  the  Norman  Baron  lay. 
Loud,   without,   his   men   were   crying, 

"  Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Know  you  why  the  ploughman,  fretting. 

Homeward  plods  his  weary  way 
Ere  his  time?     He's  after  getting 

Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

See!  the  Hesperus  is  swinging 

Idle  in  the  wintry  bay, 
And   the  skipper's   daughter's   singing, 

"  Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Where's  the  minstrel  boy?     I've  found  him 

Joining  in  the  labour  fray 
With   his   placards   slung   around   him, 

"  Shorter   hours   and   better  pay." 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  coming; 

Though  his  hair  is  getting  grey, 
Yet  I'm  glad  to  hear  him  humming, 

"  Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

E'en  the  boy  upon  the  burning 

Deck  has  got  a  word  to  say. 
Something  rather  cross  concerning 

Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 

We  can  make  as  much  as  they. 
Work  no  more,  until  they  find  us 

Shorter  hours  and  better  pay. 

Hail  to  thee,  blithe  spirit!     (Shelley) 

Wilt  thou  be  a  blackleg?    Nay. 
Soaring,  sing  above  the  melee, 

"  Shorter  hours  and  better  pay." 

Unknown. 


78.6  Whimsey 


WHATEVER  IS,  IS  RIGHT 

Lives  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  himself  has  said, 

"  Shoot  folly  as  it  flies  "  ? 
Oh!  more  than  tears  of  blood  can  tell, 
Are  in  that  word,  farewell,  farewell! 

'Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 

And  what  is  friendship  but  a  name, 
That  boils  on  Etna's  breast  of  flame? 

Thus  runs  the  world  away. 
Sweet  is  the  ship  that's  under  sail 
To  where  yon  taper  cheers  the  vale, 

With  hospitable   ray! 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes 
Through  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies! 

My  native  land,  good  night! 
Adieu,  adieu,  my  native  shore; 
'Tis  Greece,  but  living  Greece  no  more — 

Whatever  is,  is  right! 

Laman  Blanchard. 

NOTHING 

Mysterious  Nothing!  how  shall  I  define 
Thy  shapeless,  baseless,  placeless  emptiness? 
Nor  form,  nor  colour,  sound,  nor  size  is  thine, 
Nor  words  nor  fingers  can  thy  voice  express; 
But  though  we  cannot  thee  to  aught  compare, 
A  thousand  things  to  thee  may  likened  be, 
And  though  thou  art  with  nobody  nowhere, 
Yet  half  mankind  devote  themselves  to  thee. 
How  many  books  thy  history  contain; 
How  many  heads  thy  mighty  plans  pursue; 
What  labouring  hands  thy  portion  only  gain; 
What  busy  bodies  thy  doings   only   do! 
To  thee  the  great,  the  proud,  the  giddy  bend, 
And — like  my  sonnet — all  in  nothing  end. 

Richard  Porson. 


Dirge  787 


DIRGE 

To  the  memory  of  Miss  Ellen  Gee,  of  Kew,  who  died  in 
consequence  of  being  stung  in  the  eye. 

Peerless  yet  hapless  maid  of  Q! 

Accomplish'd    LN    G! 
Never  again  shall  I  and  U 

Together  sip  our  T. 

For,  ah!  the  Fates  I  know  not  Y, 

Sent  'midst  the  flowers  a  B, 
Which  ven'mous  stung  her  in  the  I, 

So  that  she  could  not  C. 

LN  exclaim'd,  "Vile  spiteful  B! 

If  ever  I  catch  TJ 
On  jess'mine,  rosebud,  or  sweet  P, 

I'll  change  your  singing  Q. 


"  I'll  send  you  like  a  lamb  or  U 

Across  th'  Atlantic  C. 
From  our  delightful  village  Q 

To  distant  O  Y  E. 

"  A  stream  runs  from  my  wounded  I, 

Salt  as  Ihe  briny  C 
As  rapid  as  the  X  or  Y, 

The  010  or  D. 

"  Then  fare  thee  ill,  insensate  B ! 

Who  stung,  nor  yet  knew  Y, 
Since  not  for  wealthy  Durham's  C 

Would  I  have  lost  my  I." 

They  bear  with  tears  fair  LN  G 

In  funeral  R  A, 
A  clay-cold  corse  now  doom'd  to  B 

Whilst  I  mourn  her  DK. 


788  Whimsey 

Ye  nymphs  of  Q,  then  shun  each  B, 

List  to  the  reason  Y; 
For  should  A  B  C  U  at  T, 

He'll  surely   sting   your  I. 


Now  in  a  grave  L  deep  in  Q, 
She's  cold  as  cold  can  B, 

Whilst  robins  sing  upon  A  U 
Her  dirge  and  LEG. 


Unknown. 


O  D  V 

CQNTAINING    A    FULL,    TRUE,    AND    PARTICULAR    ACCOUNT    OF    THE 
TERRIBLE    FATE   OF   ABRAHAM    ISAACS,   OF    IVY    LANE 

"  True  'tis  P  T,  and  P  T  'tis,  'tis  true." 

In  I  V  Lane,  of  C  T  fame, 

There  lived  a  man  D  C, 
And  A  B  I  6  was  his  name. 

Now  mark  his   history. 


Long  time  his  conduct  free  from  blame 

Did  merit  LOG, 
Until  an  evil  spirit  came 

In  the  shape  of  O  D  V. 


"O!  that  a  man  into  his  mouth 

Should  put  an  N  M  E 
To  steal  away  his  brains  " — no  drouth 

Such  course  from  sin  may  free. 


Well,  A  B  drank,  the  O  T  loon! 

And  learned  to  swear,  sans  ruth; 
And  then  he  gamed,  and  U  Z  soon 

To  D  V  8  from  truth, 


O  D  V  789 

An  hourly  glass  with  him  was  play, 

He'd  swallow  that  with  phlegm; 
Judge  what  he'd  M  T  in  a  day, 

''  X  P  D  Herculemr 

Of  virtue  none  to  sots,  I  trow. 

With  F  E  K  C  prate; 
And  0  of  N  R  G  could  now 

From  A  B  M  N  8. 

Who  on  strong  liquor  badly  dote. 

Soon   poverty   must  know; 
Thus  A  B  in  a  C  D  coat 

Was  shortly  forced  to  go. 

From  poverty  D  C  T  he  caught, 

And  cheated  not  A  F  U, 
For  what  he  purchased   paying  0, 

Or  but  an  "  I  O  U." 

Or  else  when  he  had  tried  B  4, 

To  shirk  a  debt,  his  wits. 
He'd  cry,  "  You  shan't  wait  N  E  more, 

I'll  W  or  quits. 

So  lost  did  I  6  now  A  P  R, 

That  said  his  wife,  said  she, 
**F  U  act  so,  your  fate  quite  clear 

Is  for  1  2  4  C." 

His  inside  soon  was  out  and  out 

More. fiery  than  K  N; 
And  while  his  state  was  thereabout 

A  cough  C  V  R  came. 

He  I  P  K  Q  N  A  tried, 

And  linseed  T  and  rue; 
But  0  could  save  him,  so  he  died 

As  every  1  must  2. 


790  Whimsey 

Poor  wight!  till  black  in^  the  face  he  raved, 

'Twas  P  T  S  2  C 
His  latest  spirit  "  spirit "   craved— 

His  last  words,  "  O  D  V." 


MORAL 

ril  not  S  A  to  preach  and  prate, 

But  tell  U  if  U  do 
Drink  O  D  V  at  such  K  8, 

Death  will  4  stall  U  2. 

O  U  then  who  A  Y  Z  have, 

Shun  O  D  V  as  a  wraith, 
For  'tis  a  bonus  to  the  grave. 

An  S  A  unto  death. 

Unknown. 


A  MAN  OF  WORDS 

A  MAN  of  words  and  not  of  deeds, 

Is  like  a  garden  full  of  weeds; 

And  when  the  weeds  begin  to  grow. 

It's  like  a  garden  full  of  snow; 

And  when  the  snow  begins  to  fall. 

It's  like  a  bird  upon  the  wall; 

And  when  the  bird  away  does  fly. 

It's  like  an  eagle  in  the  sky; 

And  when  the  sky  begins  to  roar. 

It's  like  a  lion  at  the  door; 

And  when  the  door  begins  to  crack, 

It's  like  a  stick  across  your  back; 

And  when  your  back  begins  to  smart, 

It's  like  a  penknife  in  your  heart; 

And  when  your  heart  begins  to  bleed. 

You're  dead,  and  dead,  and  dead  indeed. 

Unknown. 


Similes  791 


SIMILES 

As  wet  as  a  fish — as  dry  as  a  bone; 

As  live  as  a  bird — as  dead  as  a  stone; 

As  plump  as  a  partridge — as  poor  as  a  rat; 

As  strong  as  a  horse — as  weak  as  a  cat; 

As  hard  as  a  flint — as  soft  as  a  mole; 

As  white  as  a  lily — as  black  as  a  coal; 

As  plain  as  a  pike-staff — as  rough  as  a  bear; 

As  light  as  a  drum — as  free  as  the  air; 

As  heavy  as  lead — as  light  as  a  feather; 

As  steady  as  time — uncertain  as  weather; 

As  hot  as  an  oven — as  cold  as  a  frog; 

As  gay  as  a  lark — as  sick  as  a  dog; 

As  slow  as  the  tortoise — as  swift  as  the  wind; 

As  true  as  the  Gospel — as  false  as  mankind; 

As  thin  as  a  herring — as  fat  as  a  pig; 

As  proud  as  a  peacock — as  blithe  as  a  grig; 

As  savage  as  tigers — as  mild  as  a  dove; 

As  stiff-  as  a  poker — as  limp  as  a  glove; 

As  blind  as  a  bat — as  deaf  as  a  post; 

As  cool  as  a  cucumber — as  warm  as  a  toast; 

As  flat  as  a  flounder — as  round  as  a  ball; 

As  blunt  as  a  hammer — as  sharp  as  an  awl; 

As  red  as  a  ferret — as-  safe  as  the  stocks; 

As  bold  as  a  thief — as  sly  as  a  fox; 

As  straight  as  an  arrow — as  crook'd  as  a  bow; 

As  yellow  as  saffron — as  black  as  a  sloe; 

As  brittle  as  glass — as  tough  as  gristle; 

As  neat  as  my  nail — as  clean  as  a  whistle; 

As  good  as  a  feast — as  bad  as  a  witch; 

As  light  as  is  day — as  dark  as  is  pitch; 

As  brisk  as  a  bee — as  dull  as  an  ass; 

As  full  as  a  tick — as  solid  as  brass. 

Unknown. 


792  Whimsey 


NO! 

No   sun — no  moon  I 

No  morn — no  noon — 
No  dawn — no  dusk — no  proper  time  of  day — 

No  sky — no  earthly  view — 

No  distance  looking  blue — 
No  foad — no  street — no  "t'other  side  the  way" — 

No  end  to  any  Row — 

No  indications  where  the  Crescents  go — 

No  top  to  any  steeple — 
No  recognitions  of  familiar  people — 

No  courtesies  for  showing  'era — 

No  knowing  'em! 
No  travelling  at  all — no  locomotion, 
No  inkling  of  the  way — no  notion — 

"  No  go  " — by  land  or  ocean — 

No  mail — no  post — 

No  news  from  any  foreign  coast — 
No  park — no  ring — no  afternoon  gentility — 

No  company — no  nobility — 
No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease. 
No  comfortable   feel  in  any  member — 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 
No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds, 

November !  - 

Thomas  Hood. 


FAITHLESS  SALLY  BROWN 

Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  by  trade; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 

That  was  a  lady's  m»id. 

But  as  they  fetched  a  walk  one  day. 
They  met  a  press-gang  crew; 

And  Sally  she  did  faint  away, 
Whilst  Ben  he  was  brought  to. 


Faithless  Sally  Brown  793 

The  boatswain  swore  with  wicked  words, 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint, 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"  Come,  girl,"  said  he,  "  hold  up  your  head. 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat, 

A  boatswain  he  will  be." 

So  when  they'd  made  their  game  of  her. 

And  taken  off  her  elf, 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A  coming  to  herself. 

"And  is  he  gone,  and  is  he  gone?" 

She  cried,  and  wept  outright: 
"  Then   I   will   to  the   water  side, 

And  see  him  out  of  sight." 

A  waterman   came  up  to  her, — 

"  Now,  young  woman,"  said  he, 
"  If  you  weep  on  so,  you  will  make 

Eye-water  in   the  sea." 

"Alas!  they've  taken  my  beau,  Ben, 

To  sail  with  old  Benbow ; " 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh. 

As  if  she'd  said,  "Gee  woe!" 

Says  he,  "  They've  only  taken  him. 

To  the  Tender-ship,  you   see ; " 
"  The  Tender-ship,"  cried   Sally  Brown, 

"  What  a  hard-ship  that  must  be ! 

"  O !  would  T  were  a  mermaid  now. 

For  then  I'd  follow  him; 
But,   O! — I'm   not   a   fish-woman. 

And  so  I  cannot  swim. 


794  Whimsey 

"  Alas !    I    was   not   born   beneath 
The   virgin   and  the   scales, 

So  I  must  curse  my  cruel  stars. 
And  walk  about  in  Wales." 


Now  Ben  had  sailed  to  many  a  place 

That's  underneath  the  world; 
But  in  two  years  the  ship  came  home, 

And  all  her  sails  were  furled. 

But  when  he  called  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  got  on, 
He  found  she'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian  name  was  John. 

"  O,  Sally  Brown,  O,  Sally  Brown, 

How  could  you  serve  me  so? 
I've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before, 

But  never  such  a  blow !  " 

Then  reading  on  his  'bacco-box, 

He  heaved  a  heavy  sigh. 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe. 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "All's  Well," 

But  could  not,  though  he  tried; 
His  head  was  turned,  and  so  he  chewed 

His  pigtail  till  he  died. 

His  death,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty-odd   befell: 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  tolled  the  bell. 

Thomas  Hood. 


Tim  Turpin  795 


TIM  TUKPIN 

Tim  Turpin  he  was  gravel  blind, 
And  ne'er  had  seen  the  skies: 

For  Nature,  when  his  head  was  made, 
Forgot  to  dot  his  eyes. 

So,  like  a  Christmas  pedagogue. 
Poor  Tim  was  forced  to  do, — 

Look  out  for  pupils,  for  he  had 
A  vacancy  for  two. 

There's  some  have  specs  to  help  their  sight 

Of  objects  dim  and  small; 
But  Tim  had  species  within  his  eyes. 

And  could  not  see  at  all. 

Now  Tim  he  wooed  a  servant  maid. 

And  took  her  to  his  arms; 
For  he,  like  Pyramus,  had  cast 

A  wall-eye  on  her  charms. 

By  day  she  led  him  up  and  down 

Where'er  he  wished  to  jog, 
A  happy  wife,   although  she  led 

The  life  of  any  dog. 

But  just  when  Tim  had  lived  a  month 

In  honey  with  his   wife, 
A  surgeon   oped  his  Milton   eyes, 

Like  oysters,  with  a  knife. 

But  when  his  eyes  were  opened  thus, 

He  wished  them   dark  again; 
For  when  he  looked  upon  his  wife. 

He  saw  her  very  plain. 

Her  face  was  bad,  her  figure  worse, 

He  couldn't  bear  to  eat; 
For  she  was  anything  but  like 

A  Grace  before  his  meat. 


796  Whimsey 

Now  Tim  he  was  a  feeling  man: 
For  when  his  sight  was  thick, 

It  made   him   feel   for   everything, — 
But  that  was  with  a  stick. 


So,  with  a  cudgel  in  his  hand, — 
It  was  not  light  or  slim, — 

He  knocked  at  his  wife's  head  until 
It  opened  unto  him. 

And  when  the  corpse  was  stiff  and  cold. 
He  took  his  slaughtered  spouse, 

And  laid  her  in  a  heap  with  all 
The  ashes  of  her  house. 

But,  like  a  wicked  murderer, 

He  lived  in  constant  fear 
From  day  to  day,  and  so  he  cut 

His  throat  from  ear  to  ear. 

The   neighbors  fetched   a   doctor   in: 
Said  he,  "  This  wound  I  dread 

Can   hardly  be   sewed   up, — his   life 
Is  hanging  on  a  thread." 

But  when  another  week  was  gone. 
He  gave  him  stronger  hope, — 

Instead  of  hanging  on  a  thread, 
Of  hanging  on  a  rope. 

Ah!  when  he  hid  his  bloody  work. 

In   ashes   round   about. 
How  little  he  supposed   the  truth 

Would  soon  be  sifted  out! 

But  when  the  parish  dustman   came, 

His  rubbish  to  withdraw, 
He  found  more  dust  within  the  heap 

Than   he   contracted   for! 


Faithless  Nelly  Gray  797 

A  dozen  men  to  try  the  fact, 

Were  sworn  that  very  day; 
But  though  they  all  were  jurors,  yet 

No  conjurors  were  they. 

Said  Tim  unto  those  jurymen, 

"You  need  not  waste  your  breath, 
For  I  confess   myself,   at  once, 

Th6  author  of  her  death. 

"And  0,  when  I  reflect  upon 

The  blood  that  I  have  spilt. 
Just  like  a  button  is  my  soul. 

Inscribed   with   double   guilt!" 

Then  turning  round  his  head  again 

He  saw  before  his  eyes 
A  great  judge,  and  a  little  judge. 

The  judges  of  a-size ! 

The  great  judge  took  his  judgment-cap. 

And  put  it  on  his  head, 
And  sentenced  Tim  by  law  to  hang 

Till  he  was  three  times  dead. 

So  he  was  tried,  and  he  was  hung 

(Fit  punishment  for  such) 
On  Horsham  drop,  and  none  can  say 

It  was  a  drop  too  much. 

Thomas  Hood. 


FAITHLESS   NELLY  GKAY 

Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold, 
And  used  to   war's   alarms: 

But  a  cannon-ball  took  off  his  legs, 
So  he  laid  down  his  arms! 


798  Whimsej 

Now,  as  they  bore  him  off  the  field, 
Said  he,  "  Let  others  shoot, 

For  here  I  leave  my  second  leg. 
And  the  Forty-second  Foot ! " 


The  army  surgeons  made  him  limbs: 
Said  he,  "  They're  only  pegs ; 

But  there's  as  wooden  members  quite, 
As  represent  my  legs ! " 

Now  Ben  he  loved  a  pretty  maid. 
Her  name  was  Nelly  Gray; 

So  he  went  to  pay  her  his  devours 
When  he'd  devoured  his  pay! 

But  when  he  called  on  Nelly  Gray, 
She  made  him  quite  a  scoff; 

And  when  she  saw  his  wooden*  legs. 
Began  to  take  them  off!       - 

«0  Nelly  Gray!     O  Nelly  Gray! 

Is  this  your  love  so  warm? 
The  love  that  loves  a  scarlet   coat, 

Should  be  more  uniform !  " 

Said  she,  "I  loved  a  soldier  once. 
For  he  was  blithe  and  brave; 

But  I  will  never  have  a  man 
With  both  legs  in  the  gravel 

"Before  you  had  those  timber  toes, 

Tour  love  I  did  allow. 
But  then  you  know,  you  stand  upon 

Another  footing-  now !  " 

"O  Nelly  Gray!     O  Nelly  Gray! 

For  all  your  jeering  speeches. 
At  duty's  call  I  left  my  legs 

In  Badajos's  breaches !  " 


Faithless  Nelly  Gray  799 

"  Why,  then,"  said  she,  "  you've  lost  the  feet 

Of  legs  in  war's   alarms, 
And  now  you  cannot  wear  your  shoes 

Upon  your  feats  of  arms ! " 

"Oh,  false  and  fickle  Nelly  Gray; 

I  know  why  you  refuse: 
Though  I've  no  feet — some  other  man 

Is  standing  in  my  shoes! 

"I  wish  I  ne'er  had  seen  your  face; 

But  now   a  long  farewell! 
For  you  will  be  ray  death — alas! 

You  will  not  be  my  Nell !  " 

Now,  when  he  went  from  Nelly  Gray, 

His  heart  so  heavy  got — 
And   life  was   such   a  burden  grovra, 

It  made  him  take  a  knot! 

So  round  his  melancholy  neck 

A  rope  he  did  entwine, 
And,  for  his  second  time  in  life 

Enlisted  in  the  Line! 

One  end  he  tied  around  a  beam. 

And  then  removed  his  pegs, 
And  as  his  legs  were  off, — of  course, 

He  soon  was  off  his  legs! 

And  there  he  hung  till  he  was  dead 

As  any  nail  in  town, — 
For  though  distress  had  cut  him  up. 

It  could  not  cut  him  down  I 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  his  corpse. 

To  find  out  why  he  died — 
Ajud  they  buried  Ben  in  four  cross-roads. 

With  a  stake  in  his  inside! 

Thomas  Hood. 


800  Whimsey 


SALLY  SIMPKIN'S  LAMENT 

"  Oh  !  what  is  that  comes  gliding  in, 

And  quite  in  middling  haste? 
It  is  the  picture  of  my  Jones, 

And  painted  to  the  waist. 

"It  is  not  painted  to  the  life. 
For  where's  the  trousers  blue? 

O  Jones,  my  dear! — Oh,  dear!  my  Jones, 
What  is  become  of  you  ? " 

"  O  Sally,  dear,  it  is  too  true, — 

The  half  that  you  remark 
Is  come  to  say  my  other  half 

Is  bit  off  by   a  shark! 

"  O  Sally,  sharks  do  things  by  halves, 

Yet  most  completely  do! 
A  bite  in  one  place  seems  enough. 

But  IVe  been  bit  in  two. 

"  You  know  I  once  was  all  your  own. 
But  now  a  shark  must  share! 

But  let  that  pass — for  now  to  you 
I'm  neither  here  nor  there. 

"Alas!  death  has  a  strange  divorce 

Effected  in  the  sea. 
It  has  divided  me  from  you. 

And  even  me  from  me! 

"Don't  fear  my  ghost  will  walk  o'  nights 

To  haunt,  as  people  say; 
My  ghost  can't  walk,  for,  oh !  my  legs 

Are  many  leagues  away! 

"Lord!  think  when  I  am  swimming  round. 
And  looking  where  the  boat  is, 

A  shark  just  snaps  away  a  half, 
Without  *  a  quarter's  notice.' 


Death's  Ramble  801 

"  One  half  is  here,  the  other  half 

Is  near  Columbia  placed; 
O  Sally,  I  have  got  the  whole 

Atlantic  for  my  waist. 

"  But  now,  adieu — a  long  adieu  I 

I've  solved  death's  awful  riddle, 
A;nd  would  say  more,  but  I  am  doomed 

To  break  off  in  the  middle ! " 

Thomas  Hood. 


DEATH'S  KAMBLE 

One  day  the  dreary  old  King  of  Death 
Inclined  for  some  sport  with  the  carnal, 

So  he  tied  a  pack  of  darts  on  his  back. 
And  quietly  stole  from  his  charnel. 


His  head  was  bald  of  flesh  and  of  hair. 

His  body  was  lean  and  lank; 
His  joints  at  each  stir  made  a  crack,  and  the  cur 

Took  a  gnaw,  by  the  way,  at  his  shank. 

And  what  did  he  do  with  his  deadly  darts. 

This  goblin  of  grisly  bone? 
He  dabbled  and  spilled  man's  blood,  and  he  killed 

Like  a  butcher  that  kills  his  own. 

The  first  he  slaughtered  it  made  him  laugh 

(For  the  man  was  a  coffin-maker). 
To  think  how  the  mutes,  and  men  in  black  suits, 

Would  mourn  for  an  undertaker. 


Death  saw  two  Quakers  sitting  at  church; 

Quoth  he,  "  We  shall  not  differ." 
And  he  let  them  alone,  like  figures  of  stone, 

For  he  could  not  make  them  stiffer. 


802  Whimsey 

He  saw  two  duellists  going  to  fight, 

In  fear  they  could  not  smother; 
And  he  shot  one  through  at  once — for  he  knew 

They  never  would  shoot  each  other. 

He  saw  a  watchman  fast  in  his  box, 

And  he  gave  a  snore  infernal; 
Said  Death,  "  He  may  keep  his  breath,  for  his  sleep 

Can  never  be  more  eternal." 

He  met  a  coachman  driving  a  coach 

So  slow  that  his  fare  grew  sick; 
But  he  let  him  stray  on  his  tedious  way, 

For  Death  only  wars  on  the  quick. 

Death  saw  a  tollman  taking  a  toll. 

In  the  spirit  of  his  fraternity; 
But  he  knew  that  sort  of  man  would  extort. 

Though  summoned  to  all  eternity. 

He  found  an  author  writing  his  life, 

But  he  let  him  write  no  further; 
For  Death,  who  strikes  whenever  he  likes. 

Is  jealous  of  all  self -murther ! 

Death  saw  a  patient  that  pulled  out  his  purse. 
And  a  doctor  that  took  the  sum; 

But  he  let  them  be — for  he  knew  that  the  "  fee  " 
Was  a  prelude  to  "  f  aw  "  and  "  f  um." 

He  met  a  dustman  ringing  a  bell, 

And  he  gave  him  a  mortal  thrust; 
For  himself,  by  law,  since  Adam's  flaw, 

Is  contractor  for  all  our  dust. 


He  saw^  sailor  mixing  his  grog. 

And  he  marked  him  out  for  slaughter; 

For  on  water  he  scarcely  had  cared  for  death, 
And  never  on  rum-and-water. 


Panegyric  on  the  Ladies  803 

Death  saw  two  players  playing  at  cards. 

But  the  game  wasn't  worth  a  dump, 
For  he  quickly  laid  them  flat  with  a  spade, 

To  wait  for  the  final  trump ! 

Thomas  Hood. 


PANEGYRIC  ON  THE  LADIES 

READ  ALTERNATE  LINES 

That  man  must  lead  a  happy  life 
Who's  free  from  matrimonial  chains, 

Who  is  directed  by  a  wife 
Is  sure  to  suffer  for  his  pains. 


Adam  could  find  no  solid  peace 
When  Eve  was  given  for  a  mate; 

Until  he  saw  a  woman's  face 
Adam  was  in  a  happy  state. 


In  all  the  female  race  appear 
Hypocrisy,  deceit,  and  pride; 

Truth,  darling  of  a  heart  sincere. 
In  woman  never  did  reside. 


What  tongue  is  able  to  unfold 
The  failings  that  in  woman  dwell? 

The  worth  in  woman  we  behold 
Is  almost  imperceptible. 


Confusion  take  the  man,  I  say, 

Who  changes  from  his  singleness. 
Who  will  not  yield  to  woman's  sway 

Is  sure  of  earthly  blessedness. 

Unknown. 


804  Whimsey 

AMBIGUOUS  LINES 

READ  WITH  A  COMMA  AFTER  THE  FIRST  NOUN  IN  EACH  LINE 

I  SAW  a  peacock  with  a  fiery  tail 

I  saw  a  blazing  comet  pour  down  hail 

I  saw  a  cloud  all  wrapt  with  ivy  round 

I  saw  a  lofty  oak  creep  on  the  ground 

I  saw  a  beetle  swallow  up  a  whale 

I  saw  a  foaming  sea  brimful  of  ale 

I  saw  a  pewter  cup  sixteen  feet  deep 

I  saw  a  well  full  of  men's  tears  that  weep 

I  saw  wet  eyes  in  flames  of  living  fire 

I  saw  a  house  as  high  as  the  moon  and  higher 

I  saw  the  glorious  sun  at  deep  midnight 

I  saw  the  man  who  saw  this  wondrous  sight. 


I  saw  a  pack  of  cards  gnawing  a  bone 
I  saw  a  dog  seated  on  Britain's  throne 
I  saw  King  George  shut  up  within  a  box 
I  saw  an  orange  driving  a  fat  ox 
I  saw  a  butcher  not  a  twelvemonth  old 
I  saw  a  great-coat  all  of  solid  gold 
I  saw  two  buttons  telling  of  their  dreams 
I  saw  my  friends  who  wished  I'd  quit  these  themes. 

Unknown. 


SUENAMES 

Men  once  were  surnamed  for  their  shape  or  estate 

(You  all  may  from  history  worm  it), 
There  was  Louis  the  bulky,  and  Henry  the  Great, 

John  Lackland,  and  Peter  "the  Hermit: 
But  now,  when  the  doorplates  of  misters  and  dames 

Are  read,  each  so  constantly  varies; 
From  the  owner's  trade,  figure,  and  calling,  surnames 

Seem  given  by  the  rule  of  contraries. 


Surnames  805 

Mr.  Wise  is  a  dunce,  Mr.  King  is  a  whig, 

Mr.  Coffin's  uncommonly  sprightly, 
And  huge  Mr.  Little  broke  down  in  a  gig 

While  driving  fat  Mrs.  Golightly. 
At  Bath,  where  the  feeble  go  more  than  the  stout 

(A  conduct  well  worthy  of  Nero), 
Over  poor  Mr.  Lightfoot,  confined  with  the  gout, 

Mr.  Heavyside  danced  a  bolero. 

Miss  Joy,  wretched  maid,  when  she  chose  Mr.  Love, 

Found  nothing  but  sorrow  await  her; 
She  now  holds  in  wedlock,  as  true  as  a  dove, 

That  fondest  of  mates,  Mr.  Hayter. 
Mr.  Oldcastle  dwells  in  a  modern -built  hut; 

Miss  Sage  is  of  madcaps  the  archest; 
Of  all  the  queer  bachelors  Cupid  e'er  cut. 

Old  Mr.  Younghusband's  the  starchest. 

Mr.  Child,  in  a  passion,  knock'd  down  Mr.  Rock; 

Mr.  Stone  like  an  aspen-leaf  shivers; 
Miss  Pool  used  to  dance,  but  she  stands  like  a  stock 

Ever  since  she  became  Mrs.  Rivers. 
Mr.  Swift  hobbles  onward,  no  mortal  knows  how. 

He  moves  as  though  cords  had  entwined  him; 
Mr.  Metcalf  ran  off  upon  meeting  a  cow. 

With  pale  Mr.  Turnbull  behind  him. 

Mr.  Barker's  as  mute  as  a  fish  in  the  sea, 

Mr.  Miles  never  moves  on  a  journey, 
Mr.  Gotobed  sits  up  till  half  after  three, 

Mr.  Makepeace  was  bred  an  attorney. 
Mr.  Gardener  can't  tell  a  flower  from  a  root, 

Mr.  Wild  with  timidity  draws  back, 
Mr.  Ryder  performs  all  his  journeys  on  foot, 

Mr.  Foot  all  his  journeys  on  horseback. 

Mr.  Penny,  whose  father  was  rolling  in  wealth, 

Consumed  all  the  fortune  his  dad  won; 
Large  Mr.  Le  Fever's  the  picture  of  health; 

Mr.  Qoodenough  is  but  a  bad  one; 


806  Whimsey 

Mr.  Cruikshank  stept  into  three  thousand  a  year 

By  showing  his  leg  to  an  heiress : 
Now  I  hope  you'll  acknowledge  I've  made  it  quite  clear 

Surnames  ever  go  by  contraries. 

James  Smith. 


A  TERNAKY  OF  LITTLES,  UPON  A  PIPKIN  OF 
JELLY  SENT  TO  A  LADY 

A  LITTLE  saint  best  fits  a  little  shrine, 

A  little  prop  best  fits  a  little  vine ; 

As  my  small  cruse  best  fits  my  little  wine. 

A  little  seed  best  fits  a  little  soil, 
A  little  trade  best  fits  a  little  toil; 
As  my  small  jar  best  fits  my  Kttle  oil. 

A  little  bin  best  fits  a  little  bread, 

A  little  garland  fits  a  little  head ; 

As  my  small  stuff  best  fits  my  little  shed. 

A  little  hearth  best  fits  a  little  fire, 

A  little  chapel  fits  a  little  choir; 

As  my  small  bell  best  fits  my  little  spire. 

A  little  stream  best  fits  a  little  boat, 

A  little  lead  best  fits  a  little  float ; 

As  my  small  pipe  best  fits  my  little  note. 

A  little  meat  best  fits  a  little  belly, 

As  sweetly,  lady,  give  n>e  leave  to  tell  ye. 

This  little  pipkin  fits  this  little  jelly. 

Robert  Herrick. 


Out  of  Sight,  Out  of  Mind  807 


A  CARMAN'S  ACCOUNT  OF  A  LAW-SUIT 

Marry,  I  lent  my  gossip  my  mare,  to.fetch  home  coals, 
And  he  her  drowned  into  the  quarry  holes; 
And  I  ran  .to  the  Consistory,  for  to  'plain. 
And  there  I  happened  among  a  greedy  meine. 
They  gave  me  first  a  thing  they  call  Citandum; 
Within  eight  days,  I  got  but  Libellandum; 
Within  a  month,  I  got  Ad  oppenendum; 
In  half  a  year,  I  got  Interloquendum ; 
And  then  I  got — how  call  ye  it? — Ad  replicandum. 
But  I  could  never  one  word  yet  understand  them; 
Ajid  then,  they  caused  me  cast  out  many  placks. 
And  made  me  pay  for  four-and-twenty  acts. 
But,  ere  they  came  half  gait  to  Concludendum, 
The  fiend  one  plack  was  left  for  to  defend  him. 
Thus  they  postponed  me  two  years,  with  their  train. 
Then,  hodie  ad  octo,  bade  me  come  again, 
And  then,  these  rooks,  they  roupit  wonder  fast. 
For  sentence  silver,  they  cried  at  the  last. 
Of  Pronunciandum  they  made  me  wonder  fain; 
But  I  got  never  my  good  grey  mare  again. 

Sir  David  Lind-esay. 


OUT  OF  SIGHT,  OUT  OF  MIND 

The  oft'ner  seen,  the  more  I  lust, 
The  more  I  lust,  the  more  I  smart. 
The  more  I  smart,  the  more  I  trust, 
The  more  I  trust,  the  heavier  heart. 
The  heavy  heart  breeds  mine  unrest. 
Thy  absence  therefore  I  like  best. 

The  rarer  seen,  the  less  in  mind. 
The  less  in  mind,  the  lesser  pain, 
The  lesser  pain,  less  grief  I  find. 
The  lesser  grief,  the  greater  gain, 
The  greater  gain,  the  merrier  I, 
Therefore  I  wish  thy  sight  to  fly. 


808  Whimsey 

The  further  off,  the  more  I  joy, 
The  more  I  joy,  the  happier  life, 
The  happier  life,  less  hurts  annoy. 
The  lesser  hurts,  pleasure  most  rife. 
Such  pleasures  rife  shall  I  obtain 
When  distance  doth  depart  us  train. 

Barnaby  Googe. 

NONGTONGPAW 

John  Bull  for  pastime  took  a  prance, 
Some  time  ago,  to  peep  at  France; 
To  talk  of  sciences  and  arts. 
And  knowledge  gain'd  in  foreign  parts. 
Monsieur,  obsequious,  heard  him  speak, 
And  answer'd  John  in  heathen  Greek: 
To  all  he  ask'd,  'bout  all  he  saw, 
'Twas,  Monsieur,  je  vous  nentends  pas, 

John,  to  the  Palais-Royal  come, 

Its  splendor  almost  struck  him  dumb. 

"  I  say,  whose  house  is  that  there  here? " 

"  House !    Je  vous  nentends  pas,  Monsieur." 

"  What,  Nongtongpaw  again !  "  cries  John ; 

"  This  fellow  is  some  mighty  Don : 

No  doubt  he's  plenty  for  the  maw, 

I'll  breakfast  with  this  Nongtongpaw." 

John  saw  Versailles  from  Marli's  height. 

And  cried,  astonish'd  at  the  sight, 

"  Whose  fine  estate  is  that  there  here  ? " 

"  State !    Je  vous  nentends  pas.  Monsieur." 

"  His  ?  what !  the  land  and  houses,  too  ? 

The  fellow's  richer  than  a  Jew: 

On  everything  he  lays  his  claw ! 

I'd  like  to  dine  with  Nongtongpaw." 

Next  tripping  came  a  courtly  fair, 

John  cried,  enchanted  with  her  air, 

"  What  lovely  wench  is  that  there  here  ?  '^ 


Logic  809 

"  Ventch !    Je  vous  nentends  pas,  Monsieur.** 
"  What,  he  again  ?    Upon  my  life ! 
A  palace,  lands,  and  then  a  wife 
Sir  Joshua  might  delight  to  draw ! 
I'd  like  to  sup  with  Nongtongpaw." 

"  But  hold !  whose  funeral's  that  ?  "  cries  John. 
"  Je  vous  nentends  pas" — "  What!  is  he  gone? 
Wealth,  fame,  and  beauty  could  not  save 
Poor  Nongtongpaw  then  from  the  grave! 
His  race  is  run,  his  game  is  up, — 
I'd  with  him  breakfast,  dine,  and  sup; 
But  since  he  chooses  to  withdraw. 
Good  night  t'ye,  Mounseer  Nongtongpaw !  " 

Charles  Dibdin. 


LOGICAL  ENGLISH 

I  SAID,  "  This  horse,  sir,  will  you  shoe  ?  " 

And  soon  the  horse  was  shod. 
I  said,  "  This  deed,  sir,  will  you  do? " 

And  soon  the  deed  was  dod ! 

I  said,  "  This  stick,  sir,  will  you  break  ? " 

At  once  the  stick  he  broke. 
I  said,  "  This  coat,  sir,  will  you  make  ?  " 

And  soon  the  coat  he  moke! 

Unknown. 


LOGIC 

I  HAVE  a  copper  penny  and  another  copper  penny, 
Well,  then,  of  course,  I  have  two  copper  pence; 

I  have  a  cousin  Jenny  and  another  cousin  Jenny, 
Well,  pray,  then,  do  I  have  two  cousin  Jence? 

Unknown, 


810  Whimsey 

THE  CAREFUL  PENMAN 

A  Persian  penman  named  Aziz, 

Remarked,  "  I  think  I  know  my  biz. 

For  when  I  write  my  name  as  is, 
It  is  Aziz  as  is  Aziz." 

Unknown. 


QUESTIONS  WITH  ANSWERS 

What  is  earth,  sexton? — A  place  to  dig  graves; 
What  is  earth,  rich  men  ? — A  place  to  work  slaves, 
What  is  earth,  grey-beard? — A  place  to  grow  old; 
What  is  earth,  miser? — A  place  to  dig  gold; 
What  is  earth,  school-boy? — A  place  for  my  play; 
What  is  earth,  maiden? — A  place  to  be  gay; 
What  is  earth,  seamstress? — A  place  where  I  weep; 
What  is  earth,  sluggard? — A  good  place  to  sleep; 
What  is  earth,  soldier? — A  place  for  a  battle; 
What  is  earth,  herdsman? — A  place  to  raise  cattle; 
What  is  earth,  widow? — A  place  of  true  sorrow; 
What  is  earth,  tradesman? — I'll  tell  you  to-morrow; 
What  is  earth,  sick  man? — 'Tis  nothing  to  me; 
What  is  earth,  sailor? — My  home  is  the  sea; 
What  is  earth,  statesman? — A  place  to  win  fame; 
What  is  earth,  author? — I'll  write  there  my  name; 
What  is  earth,  monarch? — For  my  realm  'tis  given; 
What  is  earth,  Christian  ? — The  gateway  of  heaven. 

Unknown, 


CONJUGAL  CONJUGATIONS 

Dear  maid,  let  me  speak 

What  I  never  yet  spoke: 
You  have  made  my  heart  squeak 
As  it  never  yet  squoke. 
And  for  sight  of  you,  both  my  eyes  ache  as  they  ne'er  before 
oak. 


Conjugal  Conjugations  811 

With  your  voice  my  ears  ring. 

And  a  sweeter  ne'er  rung, 
Like  a  bird's  on  the  wing 
When  at  morn  it  has  wung. 
And  gladness  to  me  it  doth  bring,  such  as  never  voice  brung. 

My  feelings  I'd  write, 

But  they  cannot  be  wrote, 
And  who  can  indite 

What  was  never  indote! 
And  my  love  I  hasten  to  plight — the  first  that  I  plote. 

Yes,  you  would  I  choose. 

Whom  I  long  ago  chose, 
And  my  fond  spirit  sues 

As  it  never  yet  sose. 
And  ever  on  you  do  I  muse,  as  never  man  mose. 

The  house  where  you  bide 

Is  a  blessed  abode; 
Sure,  my  hopes  I  can't  hide, 

For  they  will  not  be  hode, 
And  no  person  living  has  sighed,  as,  darling,  I've  sode. 

Your  glances  they  shine 

As  no  others  have  shone. 
And  all  else  I'd  resign 
That  a  man  could  resone, 
And  surely  no  other  could  pine  as  I  lately  have  ponei:    ' 

And  don't  you  forget 

You  will  ne'er  be  forgot, 
You  never  should  fret 

As  at  times  you  have  f  rot, 
I  would  chase  all  the  cares  that  beset,  if  they  ever  besot. 

For  you  I  would  weave 

Songs  that  never  were  wove, 
And  deeds  I'd  achieve 

Which  no  man  yet  achove, 
And  for  me  you  never  should  grieve,  as  for  you  I  have  grove. 


812  Whimsey 

I'm  as  worthy  a  catch 
As  ever  was  caught. 
O,  your  answer  I  watch 
As  a  man  never  waught, 
And  we'd  make  the  most  elegant  match  as  ever  was  maught. 

Let  my  longings  not  sink; 
I  would  die  if  they  sunk. 
0,  I  ask  you  to  think 

As  you  never  have  thunk, 
And  our  fortunes  and  lives  let  us  link,  as  no  lives  could  be 
lunk. 

A.  W.  Bellaw. 


LOVE'S  MOODS  AND  SENSES 

Sally  Salter,  she  was  a  young  lady  who  taught, 

And  her  friend  Charley  Church  was  a  preacher  who  praught ! 

Though  his  enemies  called  him  a  screecher  who  scraught. 

His  heart  when  he  saw  her  kept  sinking  and  sunk, 
And  his  eye,  meeting  hers,  began  winking  and  wunk ; 
While  she  in  her  turn  fell  to  thinking,  and  thunk. 

He  hastened  to  woo  her,  and  sweetly  he  wooed, 
For  his  love  grew  until  to  a  mountain  it  grewed, 
And  what  he  was  longing  to  do  then  he  doed. 

In  secret  he  wanted  to  speak,  and  he  spoke. 

To  seek  with  his  lips  what  his  heart  long  had  soke; 

So  he  managed  to  let  the  truth  leak,  and  it  loke. 

He  asked  her  to  ride  to  the  church,  and  they  rode, 

They  so  sweetly  did  glide,  that  they  both  thought  they  glode, 

And  they  came  to  the  place  to  be  tied,  and  were  tode. 

Then,  "  homeward  "  he  said,  "  let  us  drive  "  and  they  drove. 
And  soon  as  they  wished  to  arrive,  they  arrove ; 
For  whatever  he  couldn't  contrive  she  controve. 


The  Siege  of  Belgrade  813 

The  kiss  he  was  dying  to  steal,  then  he  stole : 

At  the  feet  where  he  wanted  to  kneel,  then  he  knole. 

And  said,  "  I  feel  better  than  ever  I  fole." 

So  they  to  each  other  kept  clinging,  and  clung; 
While  time  his  swift  circuit  was  winging,  and  wung; 
And  this  was  the  thing  he  was  bringing,  and  brung : 

The  man  Sally  wanted  to  catch,  and  had  caught — 

That  she  wanted  from  others  to  snatch,  and  had  snaught — 

Was  the  one  that  she  now  liked  to  scratch  and  she  scraught. 

And  Charley's  warm  love  began  freezing  and  froze. 

While  he  took  to  teasing,  and  cruelly  toze 

The  girl  he  had  wished  to  be  squeezing  and  squoze. 

"  Wretch ! "  he  cried,  when  she  threatened  to  leave  him,  and 

left, 
"  How  could  you  deceive  me,  as  you  have  deceft?" 
And  she  answered,  "  I  promised  to  cleave,  and  I've  cleft !  " 

•  Unknown. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  BELGKADE 

An  Austrian  army,  awfully  array'd, 

Boldly  by  battery  besiege  Belgrade ; 

Cossack  commanders  cannonading  come. 

Deal  devastation's  dire  destructive  doom; 

Ev'ry  endeavour  engineers  essay. 

For  fame,  for  freedom,  fight,  fierce  furious  fray. 

Gen'rals  'gainst  gen'rals  grapple, — gracious  God! 

How  honors  Heav'n  heroic  hardihood! 

Infuriate,  indiscriminate  in  ill. 

Just  Jesus,  instant  innocence  instill! 

Kinsmen  kill  kinsmen,  kindred  kindred  kill. 

Labour  low  levels  longest,  loftiest  lines ; 

Men  march  'midst  mounds,  motes,  mountains, 

murd'rous  mines. 
Now  noisy,  noxious  numbers  notice  nought, 
Of  outward  obstacles  o'ercoming  ought ; 


814  Whimsey 

Poor  patriots  perish,  persecution's  pest ! 
Quite  quiet  Quakers  "  Quarter,  quarter,"  quest; 
Reason  returns,  religion,  right,  redounds, 
Suwarow  stop  such  sanguinary  sounds! 
Truce  to  thee,  Turkey,  terror  to  thy  train! 
Unwise,  unjust,  unmerciful  Ukraine! 
Vanish  vile  vengeance,  vanish  victory  vain! 
Why  wish  we  warfare?  wherefore  welcome  won 
Xerxes,  Xantippus,  Xavier,  Xenophon? 
Yield,  ye  young  Yaghier  yeomen,  yield  your  yell ! 
Zimmerman's,  Zoroaster's,  Zeno's  zeal 
Again  attract;  arts  against  arms  appeal. 
All,  all  ambitious  aims,  avaunt,  away! 
Et  cetera,  et  cetera,  et  ceterae. 


Unknown. 


THE  HAPPY  MAN 

La  Galisse  now  I  >yish  to  touch; 

Droll  air!  if  I  can  strike  it, 
I'm  sure  the  song  will  please  you  much; 

That  is,  if  you  should  like  it. 


La  Galisse  was,  indeed,  T  grant. 

Not  used  to   any  dainty. 
When  he  was  born ;  but  could  not  want 

As  long  as  he  had  plenty. 

Instructed  with  the  greatest  care, 

He  always  was  well  bred. 
And  never  used  a  hat  to  wear 

But  when  'twas  on  his  head. 

His  temper  was  exceeding  good. 
Just  of  his  father's  fashion; 

And  never  quarrels  boiled  his  blood 
Except  when  in  a  passion. 


The  Happy  Man  815 

His  mind  was  on  devotion  bent ; 

He  kept  with  care  each  high  day, 
And  Holy  Thursday  always  spent 

The  day  before  Good  Friday. 

He  liked  good  claret  very  well, 

I  just  presume  to  think  it; 
For  ere  its  flavour  he  could  tell 

He  thought  it  best  to  drink  it. 

Than  doctors  more  he  loved  the  cook, 
Though  food  would  make  him  gross, 

And  never  any  physic  took 
But  when  he  took  a  dose. 

Oh,  happy,  happy  is  the  swain 

The  ladies   so  adore; 
For  many  followed  in  his  train 

Whene'er  he  walked  before. 

Bright  as  the  sun  his  flowing  hair 

In  golden  ringlets  shone; 
And  no  one  could  with  him  compare, 

If  he  had  been  alone. 


His  talents  I  cannot  rehearse, 

But  every  one  allows 
That  whatsoe'er  he  wrote  in  verse, 

No  one  could,  call  it  prose. 

He  argued  with  precision  nice, 
The  learned  all  declare; 

And  it  was  his  decision  wise. 
No  horse  could  be  a  mare. 

H!s  powerful  logic  would  surprise, 
Amaze,  and  much  delight : 

He  proved  that  dimness  of  the  eyes. 
Was  hurtful  to  the  sight. 


816  Whimsey 

They  liked  him  much — so  it  appears 
Most  plainly — who  preferred  him; 

And  those  did  never  want  their  ears 
Who  any  time  had  heard  him. 


He  was  not  always  right,  'tis  true, 
And  then  he  must  be  wrong; 

But  none  had  found  it  out,  he  knew. 
If  he  had  held  his  tongue. 


Whene'er  a  tender  tear  he  shed, 
'Twas  certain  that  he  wept; 

And  he  would  lie  awake  in  bed. 
Unless,  indeed,  he  slept. 

In  tilting  everybody  knew 

His  very  high  renown ; 
Yet  no  opponents  he  o'erthrew 

But  those  that  he  knocked  down. 


At  last  they  smote  him  in  the  head, — 

What  hero  ever  fought  all? 
And  when  they  saw  that  he  was  dead. 

They  knew  the  wound  was  mortal. 

And  when  at  last  he  lost  his  breath, 

It  closed  his  every  strife; 
For  that  sad  day  that  sealed  his  death 

Deprived  him  of  his  life. 

Gilles  Menage. 


THE  BELLS 

Oh,  it's  H-A-P-P-Y  I  am,  and  it's  F-K-double-E, 
And  it's  G-L-0-K-Y  to  know  that  I'm  S-A-V-E-D. 
Once  I  was  B-0-U-N-D  by  the  chains  of  S-I-N 
And  it's  L-U-C-K-Y  I  am  that  all  is  well  again. 


A  Bachelor's  Mono-Rhjmc  817 

Oh,  the  bells  of  Hell  go  ting-a-ling-a-ling 

For  you,  but  not  for  me. 
The  bells  of  Heaven  go  sing-a-ling-a-ling 

For  there  I  soon  shall  be. 
Oh,  Death,  where  is  thy  sting-a-ling-a-ling 

Oh,  Grave,  thy  victorie-e. 
No  Ting-a-ling-a-ling,  no  sting-a-ling-a-ling 

But  sing-a-ling-a-ling  for  me. 


Unknown. 


TAKINGS 


He  took  her  fancy  when  he, came. 

He  took  her  hand,  he  took  a  kiss. 
He  took  no  notice  of  the  shame 

That  glowed  her  happy  cheek  at  this. 

He  took  to  come  of  afternoons, 

He  took  an  oath  he'd  ne'er  deceive. 

He  took  her  master's  silver  spoons. 
And  after  that  he  took  his  leave. , 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr. 

A  BACHELOK'S  MONO-RHYME 

Do  you  think  I'd  marry  a  woman 

That  can  neither  cook  nor  sew, 
Nor  mend  a  rent  in  her  gloves 

Or  a  tuck  in  her  furbelow; 
Who  spends  her  time  in  reading 

The  novels  that  come  and  go; 
Who  tortures  heavenly  music. 

And  makes  it  a  thing  of  woe; 
Who  deems  three-fourths  of  my  income 

Too  little,  by  half,  to  show 
What  a  figure  she'd  make,  if  I'd  let  her, 

'Mid  the  belles  of  Rotten  Row ; 
Who  has  not  a  thought  in  her  head 

Where  thoughts  are  expected  to  grow. 
Except  of  trumpery  scandals 

Too  small  for  a  man  to  know? 


818  Whimsey 

Do  you  think  I'd  wed  with  that. 

Because  both  high  and  low 
Are  charmed  by  her  youthful  graces 

And  her  shoulders  white  as  snow  ? 
.  Ah  no !    I've  a  wish  to  be  happy, 

I've  a  thousand  a  year  or  so, 
'Tis  all  I  can  expect 

That  fortune  will  bestow ! 
So,  pretty  one,  idle  one,  stupid  one ! 

You're  not  for  me,  I  trow, 
To-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow, 

No,  no !  decidedly  no ! 

Charles  Mackay. 


THE  AKT  OF  BOOK-KEEPING 

How  hard,  when  those  who  do  not  wish 

To  lend,  that's  lose,  their  books, 
Are  snared  by  anglers — folks  that  fish 

With  literary  hooks; 

Who  call  and  take  some  favourite  tome, 

But  never  read  it  through; 
They  thus  complete  their  set  at  home. 

By  making  one  at  you. 

Behold  the  bookshelf  of  a  dunce 

Who  borrows — never  lends; 
Yon  work,  in  twenty  volumes,  once 

Belonged  to  twenty  friends. 

New  tales  and  novels  you  may  shut 

From- view — 'tis  all  in  vain; 
They're  gone — and  though  the  leaves  are  "  cut " 

They  never  "  come  again." 

For  pamphlets  lent  I  look  around. 

For  tracts  my  tears  are  spilt; 
But  when  they  take  a  book  that's  bound, 

'Tis  surely  extra  guilt. 


The  Art  of  Book-Keeping  819 

A  circulating  library 

Is  mine — my  birds  are  flown; 
There's  one  odd  volume  left,  to  be 

Like  all  the  rest,  a-lone. 


I,  of  my  "  Spenser  "  quite  bereft, 

Last  winter  sore  was  shaken; 
Of  "  Lamb  "  I've  but  a  quarter  left, 

Nor  could  I  save  my  "  Bacon." 

My  "  Hall  "  and  "  Hill  "  were  levelled  flat, 

But  '*  Moore"  was  still  the  cry; 
And  then,  although  I  threw  them  "  Sprat," 

They  swallowed  up  my  "  Pye." 

O'er  everything,  however  slight. 

They  seized  some  airy  trammel; 
They  snatched  my  "  Hogg  "  and  "  Fox  "  one  night, 

And  pocketed  my  "  Campbell." 

And  then  I  saw  my  "  Crabbe  "  at  last. 

Like  Hamlet's,  backward  go; 
And  as  my  tide  was  ebbing  fast. 

Of  course  I  lost  my  "  Rowe." 

I  wondered  into  what  balloon 

My  books  their  course  had  bent; 
And  yet,  with  all  my  marvelling,  soon 

I  found  my  "Marvell"  went. 

My  "  Mallet "  served  to  knock  me  down. 

Which  makes  me  thus  a  talker; 
And  once,  while  I  was  out  of  town, 

My  "  Johnson  "  proved  a  "  Walker." 

While  studying  o'er  the  fire  one  day 

My  "  Hobbes  "  amidst  the  smoke ; 
They  bore  my  "  Colman  "  clean  away, 

And  carried  off  my  "  Coke." 


820  Whimsey 

They  picked  my  "  Locke,"  to  me  far  more 
Than  Bramah's  patent's  worth; 

And  now  my  losses  I  deplore, 
Without  a  "  Home  "  on  earth. 


If  once  a  book  you  let  them  lift, 

Another  they  conceal. 
For  though  I  caught  them  stealing  "  Swift," 

As  swiftly  went  my  "  Steele." 

"  Hope  "  is  not  now  upon  my  shelf. 

Where  late  he  stood  elated; 
But,  what  is  strange,  my  "  Pope  "  himself 

Is  excommunicated. 

My  little  "  Suckling  "  in  the  grave 

Is  sunk,  to  swell  the  ravage ; 
And  what  'twas  Crusoe's  fate  to  save 

Twas  mine  to  lose — a  "  Savage." 

Even  "  Glover^s  "  works  I  cannot  put 

My  frozen  hands  upon  ; 
Though  ever  since  I  lost  my  "  Foote," 

My  "  Bunyan  "  has  been  gone 

My  "  Hoyle  "  with  "  Cotton  "  went ;  oppressed. 

My  "  Taylor"  too  must  fail; 
To  save  my  "  Goldsmith  "  from  arrest, 

In  vain  I  offered  "  Bayle." 

I  "  Prior,"  sought,  but  could  not  see 

The  "  Hood  "  so  late  in  front; 
And  when  I  turned  to  hunt  for  "  Lee," 

Oh !  where  was  my  "  Leigh  Hunt !  " 

I  tried  to  laugh,  old  care  to  tickle. 

Yet  could  not  "  Tickell  "  touch ; 
And  then,  alas !  I  missed  my  "  Mickle," 

And  surely  mickle's  much. 


The  Art  of  Book-Kecping  821 

'Tis  quite  enough  my  griefs  to  feed, 

My  sorrows  to  excuse, 
To  think  I  cannot  read  my  "  Reid," 

Nor  even  use  iny  "  Hughes." 


To  "  West,"  to  "  South,"  I  turn  my  head. 

Exposed  alike  to  odd  jeers; 
For  since  my  "  Roger  Ascham's  "  fled,  * 

I  ask  'em  for  my  "  Rogers." 

They  took  my  "  Home  "—and  "  Home  Tooke  "  too. 

And  thus  my  treasures  flit; 
I  feel  when  I  would  "  Hazlitt "  view, 

The  flames  that  it  has  lit. 

My  word's  worth  little,  "  Wordsworth  "  gone. 

If  I  survive  its  doom ; 
How  many  a  bard  I  doted  on 

Was  swept  off — with  my  "  Broome." 

My  classics  would  not  quiet  lie, 

A  thing  so  fondly  hoped ; 
Like  Dr.  Primrose,  I  may  cry, 

"My  ^Livy'  has  eloped!" 

My  life  is  wasting  fast  away — 

I  suffer  from  these  shocks; 
And  though  I  fixed  a  lock  on  "  Grey," 

There's  grey  upon  my  locks. 

I'm  far  from  young — am  growing  pale— 

I  see  my  "Butter"  fly; 
And  when  they  ask  about  my  ail, 

'Tis  "Burton"  I  reply. 

They  still  have  made  me  slight  retums, 

And  thus  my  griefs  divide; 
For  oh !  they've  cured  me  of  my  "  Bums," 

And  eased  my  "  Akenside." 


822  Whimsey 

But  all  T  think  I  shall  not  say, 

Nor  let  my  anger  burn ; 
For  as  they  never  found  me  "  Gay," 

They  have  not  left  me  "  Sterne." 

Laman  Blanchard. 


AN  »rVITATION  TO  THE  ZOOLOGICAL  GARDENS 

BY   A   STUTTERING   LOVER 

I  HAVE  found  out  a  gig-gig-gift  for  my  fuf-fuf-fair, 
I  have  found  M^here  the  rattlesnakes  bub-bub-breed ; 

Will  you  co-co-come,  and  I'll  show  you  the  bub-bub-bear, 
And  the  lions  and  tit-tit-tigers  at  fuf-fuf-feed. 

I  know  where  the  co-co-cockatoo's  song 

Makes  mum-mum-melody  through  the  sweet  vale; 

Where  the  mum-monkeys  gig-gig-grin  all  the  day  long, 
Or  gracefully  swing  by  the  tit-tit-tit-tail. 

You  shall  pip-play,  dear,  some  did-did-delicate  joke 

With  the  bub-bub-bear  on  the  tit-tit-top  of  his  pip-pip-pip- 
pole  ; 
But  observe,  'tis  forbidden  to  pip-pip-poke 

At  the  bub-bub-bear  with  your  pip-pip-pink  pip-pip-pip- 
pip-parasol  ! 

You  shall  see  the  huge  elephant  pip-pip-play, 
You  shall  gig-gig-gaze  on  the  stit-stit-stately  raccoon; 

And  then,  did-did-dear,  together  we'll  stray 

To  the  cage  of  the  bub-bub-blue-faced  bab-bab-boon. 

You  wished  (T  r-r-remember  it  well, 

And  I  lul-lul-loved  you  the  m-m-more  for  the  wish) 

To  witness  the  bub-bub-beautiful  pip-pip-pel- 
ican swallow  the  1-1-live  little  fuf-fuf-fishi 

Unknown. 


A  Nocturnal  Sketch  823 


A  NOCTURNAL  SKETCH 

Even  is  come;  and  from  the  dark  Park,  hark, 

The  signal  of  the  setting  sun — one  gun ! 

And  six  is  sounding  from  the  chime,  prime  time 

To  go  and  see  the  Drury-Lane,  Dane  slain, — 

Or  hear  Othello's  jealous  doubt  spout  out, —  ' 

Or  Macbeth  raving  at  that  shade-made  blade, 

Denying  to  his  frantic  clutch  much  touch; — 

Or  else  to  see  Ducrow  with  wide  stride  ride 

Four  horses  as  no  other  man  can  span; 

Or  in  the  small  Olympic  Pit,  sit  split 

Laughing  at  Listen,  while  you  quiz  his  phiz. 

Anon  Night  comes,  and  with  her  wings  brings  things 

Such  as,  with  his  poetic  tongue,  Young  sung; 

The  gas  up-blazes  with  its  bright  white  light. 

And  paralytic  watchmen  prowl,  howl,  growl, 

About  the  streets  and  take  up  Pall-Mall  Sal, 

Who,  hasting  to  her  nightly  jobs,  robs  fobs. 

Now  thieves  to  enter  for  your  cash,  smash,  crash, 
Past  drowsy  Charley,  in  a  deep  sleep,  creep. 
But  frightened  by  Policeman  B  3,  flee. 
And  while  they're  going,  whisper  low,  "  No  go ! " 
Now  puss,  while  folks  are  in  their  beds,  treads  leads. 
And  sleepers  waking,  grumble — "  Drat  that  cat !  '^ 
Who  in  the  gutter  caterwauls,  squalls,  mauls 
Some  feline  foe,  and  screams  in  shrill  ill-will. 

Now  Bulls  of  Bashan,  of  a  prize  size,  rise 
In  childish  dreams,  and  with  a  roar  gore  poor 
Georgy,  or  Charley,  or  Billy,  willy-nilly; — 
But  Nursemaid,  in  a  nightmare  rest,  chest-pressed, 
Dreameth  of  one  of  her  old  flames,  James  Games, 
And  that  she  hears — what  faith  is  man's ! — Ann's  banns 
And  his,  from  Reverend  Mr.  Rice,  twice,  thrice: 
White  ribbons  flourish,  and  a  stout  shout  out, 
That  upward  goes,  shows  Rose  knows  those  bows'  woes! 

Thomas  Hood. 


824     .  Whimsey 


LOVELILTS 

Thine  eyes,  dear  one,  dot  dot,  are  like,  dash,  what? 
They,  pure  as  sacred  oils,  bless  and  anoint 
My  sin-swamped  soul  which  at  thy  feet  sobs  out, 
O  exclamation  point,  0  point,  O  point! 

Ah,  had  I  words,  blank  blank,  which,  dot,  I've  not, 
I'd  swoon  in  songs  which  should'st  illume  the  dark 
With  light  of  thee.     Ah,  God  (it's  strong  to  swear) 
Why,  why,  interrogation  mark,  why,  mark  ? 

Dot  dot  dot  dot.    And  so,  dash,  yet,  but  nay ! 
My  tongue  takes  pause ;  some  words  must  not  be  said, 
For  fear  the  world,  cold  hyphen-eyed,  austere, 
Should'st  shake  thee  by  the  throat  till  reason  fled. 

One  hour  of  love  we've  had.     Dost  thou  recall 
Dot  dot  dash  blank  interrogation  mark? 
The  night  was  ours,  blue  heaven  over  all 
Dash,  God!  dot  stars,  keep  thou  our  secret  dark! 

Marion  Hill. 


JOCOSA  LYRA 

In  our  hearts  is  the  Great  One  of  Avon 

Engraven, 
And  we  climb  the  cold  summits  once  built  on 

By  Milton. 

But  at  times  not  the  air  that  is  rarest 

Is  fairest. 
And  we  long  in  the  valley  to  follow 

Apollo. 

Then  we  drop  from  the  heights  atmospheric 

To  Herrick, 
Or  we  pour  the  Greek  honey,  grown  blander. 

Of  Landor; 


To  a  Thesaurus  825 

Or  our  cosiest  nook  in  the  shade  is 

Where  Praed  is, 
Or  we  toss  the  light  bells  of  the  mocker 

With  Locker. 


Oh,  the  song  where  not  one  of  the  Graces 

Tight-laces, — 
Where  we  woo  the  sweet  Muses  not  starchly 

But  archly, — 


Where  the  verse,  like  a  piper  a-Maying, 
Comes  playing, — 

And  the  rhyme  is  as  gay  as  a  dancer 
In  answer, — 


It  will  last  till  men  weary  of  pleasure 

In  measure! 
It  will  last  till  men  weary  of  laughter  .    .    . 

And  after! 

Austin  Dobson. 


TO  A  THESAURUS 

O  PRECIOUS  code,  volume,  tome. 
Book,  writing,  compilation,  work 

Attend  the  while  I  pen  a  pome, 
A  jest,  a  jape,  a  quip,  a  quirk. 

For  I  would  pen,  engross,  indite. 

Transcribe,  set  forth,  compose,  address. 

Record,  submit — yea,  even  write 
An  ode,  an  elegy  to  bless — 


To  bless,  set  store  by,  celebrate. 
Approve,  esteem,  endow  with  soul, 

Commend,  acclaim,  appreciate. 
Immortalize,  laud,  praise,  extol. 


826  Whimsey 

Thy  merit,  goodness,  value,  worth, 

Experience,  utility — 
O  manna,  honey,  salt  of  earth, 

I  sing,  I  chant,  I  worship  thee! 

How  could  I  manage,  live,  exist. 
Obtain,  produce,  be  real,  prevail. 

Be  present  in  the  flesh,  subsist. 

Have  place,  become,  breathe  or  inhale. 

Without  thy  help,  recruit,  support, 

Opitulation,  furtherance. 
Assistance,  rescue,  aid,  resort, 

Favour,  sustention  and  advance? 

Alack!  Alack!  and  well-a-day! 

My  case  would  then  be  dour  and  sad, 
Likewise  distressing,  dismal,  gray, 
-Pathetic,  mournful,  dreary,  bad. 


Though  I  could  keep  this  up  all  day. 

This  lyric,  elegiac,  song, 
Meseems  hath  come  the  time  to  say 

Farewell!     Adieu!     Good-by!     So  long! 

Franklin  P.  Adams. 


THE  FUTUKE  OF  THE  CLASSICS 

No  longer,  O  scholars,  shall  Plautus 
Be  taught  us. 
No  more  shall  professors  be  partial 
To  Martial. 
No  ninny 
Will  stop  playing  "  shinney  " 
.  •  For  Pliny. 

Not  even  the  veriest  Mexican  Greaser 

Will  stop  to  read  Caesar. 
No  true  son  of  Erin  will  leave  his  potato 
To  list  to  the  love-lore  of  Ovid  or  Plato. 


I 


The  Future  of  the  Classics  827 

Old  Homer, 
That  hapless  old  roamer, 
Will  ne'er  find  a  rest  'neath  collegiate  dome  or 
Anywhere  else.    As  to  Seneca, 

Any  cur 
Safely  may  snub  him,  or  urge  ill 
Effects  from  the  reading  of  Virgil. 
Cornelius  Nepos 
Wont  keep  us 
Much  longer  from  pleasure's  light  errands — 

Nor  Terence. 
The  irreverent  now  may  all  scoff  in  ease 
At  the  shade  of  poor  old  Aristophanes. 
And  moderns  it  now  doth  behoove  in  all 
Ways  to  despise  poor  old  Juvenal; 
And  to  chivvy 
Livy. 
The  class-room  hereafter  will  miss  a  row 
Of  eager  young  students  of  Cicero. 
The  'longshoreman — yes,  and  the  dock-rat,  he's 
Down  upon  Socrates. 

And  what'U 
Induce  us  to  read  Aristotle? 
We  shall  fail  in 
Our  duty  to  Galen. 
No  tutor  henceforward  shall  rack  us 
To  construe  old  Horatius  Flaccus. 
We  have  but  a  wretched  opinion 
Of  Mr.  Justinian. 
In  our  classical  pabulum  mix  we've  no  wee  sop 

Of  ^sop. 
Our  balance  of  intellect  asks  for  no  ballast 
From  Sallust. 
With  feminine  scorn  no  fair  Vassar-bred  lass  at  us 
Shall  smile  if  we  own  that  we  cannot  read  Tacitus. 
No  admirer  shall  ever  now  wreathe  with  begonias 
The  bust  of  Suetonius. 
And  so,  if  you  follow  me. 
We'll  have  to  cut  Ptolemy. 
Besides,  it  would  just  be  considered  facetious 
To  look  at  Lucretius. 


828  Whimsey 

And  you  can 
Not  go  in  Society  if  you  read  Lucan, 
And  we  cannot  have  any  fun 
Out  of  Xenophon. 

Unknown. 


CAUTIONAKY  YEKSES 

My  little  dears,  who  learn  to  read,  pray  early,  learn  to  shun 

That  very  silly  thing  indeed  which  people  call  a  pun; 

Head   Entick's    rules,   and   Hwill  be  found   how   simple   an 

offence 
It  is  to  make  the  selfsame  sound  afford  a  double  sense. 

For  instance,  ale  may  make  you  ail,  your  aunt  an  ant  may 

kill. 
You  in  a  vale  may  buy  a  veil  and  Bill  may  pay  the  bill. 
Or  if  to  France  your  bark  you  steer,  at  Dover  it  may  be 
A  peer  appears  upon  the  pier,  who  blind,  still  goes  to  sea. 

Thus,  one  might  say,  when,  to  a  treat,  good  friends  accept  our 

greeting, 
'Tis  meet  that  men  who  meet  to  eat  should  eat  their  meat 

when  meeting; 
Brawn  on  the  board's  no  bore  indeed,  although  from  boar 

prepared ; 
Nor  can  the  fowl  on  which  we  feed,  foul  feeding  be  declared. 

Thus  one  ripe  fruit  may  be  a  pear,  and  yet  be  pared  again, 
And  still  be  one,  which  seemeth  rare  until  we  do  explain. 
It  therefore  should  be  all  your  aim  to  speak  with  ample  care, 
For  who,  however  fond  of  game,  would  choose  to  swallow 
hair? 

A  fat  man's  gait  may  make  us  smile,  who  have  no  gate  to 

close ; 
The  farmer  sitting  on  his  stile  no  stylish  person  knows. 
Perfumers  men  of  scents  must  be;   some  Scilly  men   are 

bright ; 
A  brown  man  oft  deep  read  we  see,  a  black  a  wicked  wight. 


The  War:    A— Z  829 


Most  wealthy  men  good  manors  have,  however  vulgar  they; 
And  actors  still  the  harder  slave  the  oftener  they  play; 
So  poets  can't  the  baize  obtain,  unless  their  tailors  choose; 
While  grooms  and  coachmen,  not  in  vain,  each  evening  seek 
the  Mews. 

The  dyer,  who  by  dyeing  lives,  a  dire  life  maintains ; 

The  glazier,  it  is  known,  receives  his  profits  for  his  panes; 

By  gardeners  thyme  is  tied,  'tis  true,  when  spring  is  in  its 

prime. 
But  time  or  tide  won't  wait  for  you  if  you  are  tied  for  time. 

Then  now  you  see,  my  little  dears,  the  way  to  make  a  pun; 
A  trick  which  you,  through  coming  years,  should  sedulously 

shun ; 
The  fault  admits  of  no  defence;  for  wheresoe'er  'tis  found, 
You  sacrifice  for  sound  the  sense;  the  sense  is  never  sound. 

So  let  your  words  and  actions  too,  one  single  meaning  prove. 
And,  just  in  all  you  say  or  do,  you'll  gain  esteem  and  love; 
In  mirth  and  play  no  harm  you'll  know  when  duty's  task  is 

done. 
But  parents  ne'er  should  let  you  go  unpunished  for  a  pun ! 

Theodore  Hook. 


THE  WAR:  A— Z 

An  Austrian  Archduke,  assaulted  and  assailed, 
Broke  Belgium's  barriers,  by  Britain  bewailed. 
Causing  consternation,  confused  chaotic  crises; 
Diffusing  destructive,  death  dealing  devices. 
England  engaged  earnestly,  eager  every  ear, 
France  fought  furiously,  forsaking  foolish  fear. 
Great  German  garrisons  grappled  Gallic  guard, 
Hohenzollern  Hussars  hammered,  heavy,  hard. 
Infantry,  Imperial,  Indian,  Irish,  intermingling. 
Jackets  jaunty,  joking,  jesting,  jostling,  jingling. 
Kinetic,  Kruppised  Kaiser,  kingdom's  killing  knight, 
Laid  Louvain  lamenting,  London  lacking  light, 


830  Whimsey 

Mobilising  millions,  marvellous  mobility, 
Numberless  nonentities,  numerous  nobility. 
Oligarchies  olden  opposed  olive  offering, 
Prussia  pressed  Paris,  Polish  protection  proffering, 
Quaint  Quebec  quickly  quartered  quotidian  quota, 
Kenascent  Kussia,  resonant,  reported  regal  rota. 
Scotch  soldiers,  sterling,  songs  stalwart  sung, 
"  Tipperary  "  thundered  through  titanic  tongue. 
United  States  urging  unarmament,  unwanted, 
Visualised  victory  vociferously  vaunted, 
Wilson^s  warnings  wasted,  world  war  wild, 
Xenian  Xanthochroi  Xantippically  X-iled. 
Yorkshire's  young  yeomen  yelling  youthfully, 
"Zigzag  Zeppelins,  Zuyder  Zee." 

John  R.  Edwards. 


LINES  TO  MISS  FLORENCE  HUNTINGDON 

Sweet  maiden  of  Passamaquoddy 

Shall  we  seek  for  communion  of  souls 

Where  the  deep  Mississippi  meanders 
Or  the  distant  Saskatchewan  rolls? 


Ah,  no  I — ^f  or  in  Maine  I  will  find  thee 

A  sweetly  sequestrated  nook. 
Where  the  far-winding  Skoodoowabskooksis 

Conjoins  with  the  Skoodoowabskook, 

There  wander  two  beautiful  rivers. 
With  many  a  winding  and  crook : 

The  one  is  the  Skoodoowabskooksis; 
The  other,  the  Skoodoowabskook. 

Ah,  sweetest  of  haunts!  though  unmentioned 

In  geography,  atlas,  or  book. 
How  fair  is  the  Skoodoowabskooksis, 

When  joining  the  Skoodoowabskook ! 


Lines  to  Miss  Florence  Huntingdon  831 

Our  cot  shall  be  close  by  the  waters, 

Within  that  sequestrated  nook, 
Reflected  by  Skoodoowabskooksis, 

And  mirrored  in  Skoodoowabskook. 


You  shall  sleep  to  the  music  of  leaflets, 

By  zephyrs  in  wantonness  shook, 
To  dream  of  the  Skoodoowabskooksis, 

And,  perhaps,  of  the  Skoodoowabskook. 

Your  food  shall  be  fish  from  the  waters. 
Drawn  forth  on  the  point  of  a  hook. 

From  murmuring  Skoodoowabskooksis, 
Or  meandering  Skoodoowabskook. 

You  shall  quaff  the  most  sparkling  of  waters. 
Drawn  forth  from  a  silvery  brook. 

Which  flows  to  the  Skoodoowabskooksis, 
And  so  to  the  Skoodoowabskook. 

And  you  shall  preside  at  the  banquet. 
And  I  shall  wait  on  you  as  cook; 

And  we'll  talk  of  the  Skoodoowabskooksis, 
And  sing  of  the  Skoodoowabskook. 

Let  others  sing  loudly  of  Saco, 

Of  Quoddy  and  Tattamagouche, 
Of  Kenebeccasis  and  Quaco, 

Of  Merigoniche  and  Buctouche, 

Of  Nashwaak  and  Magaguadavique, 

Or  Memmerimammericook : — 
There's  none  like  the  Skoodoowabskooksis, 

Excepting  the  Skoodoowabskook! 

Unknown. 


832  Whimsey 

TO  MY  NOSE 

Knows  he  that  never  took  a  pinch, 
Nosey,  the  pleasure  thence  which  flows, 
Knows  he  the  titillating  joys 
Which  my  nose  knows? 

0  Nose,  I  am  as  proud  of  thee 
As  any  mountain  of  its  snows, 

1  gaze  on  thee,  and  feel  that  pride 

A  Roman  knows! 

Albert  A.  Forrester  {Alfred  Crowquill). 


A  POLKA  LYRIC 

Qui  nunc  dancere  vult  modo, 
Wants  to  dance  in  the  fashion,  oh! 
Discere  debet — ought  to  know, 
Kickere  floor  cum  heel  and  toe, 

One,  two,  three, 

Hop  with  me, 
Whirligig,  twirligig,  rapide. 

Polkam  jungere,  Virgo,  vis, 
Will  you  join  the  polka,  miss? 
Liberius — most  willingly. 
Sic  agimus — then  let  us  try: 

Nunc  vide. 

Skip  with  me. 
Whirlabout,  roundabout,  celere. 

Tum  Iseva  cito,  turn  dextra. 
First  to  the  left,  and  then  t'other  way; 
Aspice  retro  in  vultu, 
You  look  at  her,  and  she  looks  at  you. 
Das  palmam 
Change  hands,  ma'am; 
Celere — run  away,  just  in  sham. 
-       --^  Barclay  Philips. 


Ode  for  a  Social  Meeting  833 


A  C AT ALECTIC  MONODY  I 

A  CAT  I  sing,  of  famous  memory, 
Though  ca^achrestical  my  song  may  be; 
In  a  small  garden  catacomb  she  lies, 
And  cataclysms  fill  her  comrades'  eyes; 
Borne  on  the  air,  the  ca^acoustic  song 
Swells  with  her  virtues'  catalogue  along. 
No  cataplasm  could  lengthen  out  her  years, 
Though  mourning  friends  shed  cataracts  of  tears. 
Once  loud  and  strong  her  ca^echist-like  voice 
It  dwindled  to  a  catcaWs  squeaking  noise; 
Most  categorical  her  virtues  shone,  , 

By  catenation  join'd  each  one  to  one; — 
But  a  vile  catchpoll  dog,  with  cruel  bite, 
Like  casing's  cut,  her  strength  disabled  quite; 
Her  caterwauling  pierced  the  heavy  air, 
As  ca ^aphracts  their  arms  through  legions  bear; 
'Tis  vain!  as  caterpillars  drag  away 
Their  lengths,  like  cattle  after  busy  day. 
She  ling'ring  died,  nor  left  in  kit  Teat  the 
Embodyment  of  this  catastrophe. 

Cruikshank's  Omnibus, 

ODE  FOR  A  SOCIAL  MEETING 

WITH  SLIGHT  ALTERATIONS  BY  A  TEETOTALER 

Come!  fill  a  fresh  bumper, — for  why  should  we  go 

logwood 
While  the  noctar  still  reddens  our  cups  as  they  flow? 

decoction 
Pour  out  the  ^ieh  juices  still  bright  with  the  sun, 

dye-stuff 
Till  o'er  the  brimmed  crystal  the  rubico  shall  run. 

half-ripened  apples 
The  -purple-globed-efasters- thei r  life-dews  have  bled; 

taste  sugar  of  lead 

How  sweet  is  the-broatb  of  the^ragg^ancc  they  shed!- 

rank  poisons  wines!! I 

For  Summer's  last  roses  lie  hid  in  the  winos 

stable-boys  smoking  long-nines 
That  were  garnered  by -Bmidens-wJto  laughed  through  the 

vines , 


834  Whimsey 

scowl  howl  scoff  sneer 

Then  a  -5mi4e5  and  a  glass,  and  a  -toast,  and  a  -chcer^ 

strychnine  and  whiskey,  and  ratsbane  and  beer 
For  att-4fee--good-w^ine-r-and-we^-sein€--©#4tr-fe€re4^ 

In  cellar,  in  pantry,  in  attic,  in  hall, 

Down,  down  with  the  tyrant  that  masters  us  all ! 

ii^Aighs  f  or-us-  all ! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  JOVIAL  PRIEST'S  CONFESSION 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  WALTER  DE  MAPES, 
TIME  OF  HENRY   II 

I  DEVISE  to  end  my  days — in  a  tavern  drinking, 

May   some   Christian   hold   for   me — the   glass   when   I   am 

shrinking, 
That  the  cherubim  may  cry — when  they  see  me  sinking, 
God   be   merciful   to    a   soul^of   this   gentleman's   way   of 

thinking. 


A  glass  of  wine  amazingly — enlighteneth  one's  internals; 
'Tis  wings  bedewed  with  nectar — that  fly  up  to  supernals; 
Bottles  cracked  in  taverns — have  much  the  sweeter  kernels. 
Than  the  sups  allowed  to  us — in  the  college  journals. 


Every  one  by  nature  hath — a  mold  which  he  was  cast  in ; 
I  happen  to  be  one  of  those — who  never  could  write  fasting; 
By  a  single  little  boy — I  should  be  surpass'd  in 
Writing  so:  I'd  just  as  lief — be  buried;  tomb'd  and  grass'd 
in. 


Every  one  by  nature  hath — a  gift  too,  a  dotation : 
I,  when  I  make  verses — do  get  the  inspiration 
Of  the  very  best  of  wine — that  comes  into  the  nation: 
It  maketh  sermons  to  astound — for  edification. 


Limericks  836 

Just  as  liquor  floweth  good — floweth  forth  my  lay  so; 
But  I  must  moreover  eat — or  I  could  not  say  so; 
Naught  it  availeth  inwardly — should  I  write  all  day  so; 
But  with  God's  grace  after  meat — I  beat  Ovidius  Naso. 


Neither  is  there  given  to  me — prophetic  animation, 
Unless  when  I  have  eat  and  drank — yea,  ev'n  to  saturation, 
Then  in  my  upper  story — hath  Bacchus  domination, 
And  Phcebus  rushes  into  me,  and  beggareth  all  relation. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


LIMEKICKS 

There  was  an  old  man  of  Tobago, 
Who  lived  upon  rice,  gruel  and  sago; 

Till,  much  to  his  bliss, 

His  physician  said  this : 
"  To  a  leg,  sir,  of  mutton,  you  may  go." 


There  was  an  old  soldier  of  Bister, 
Went  walking  one  day  with  his  sister; 

When  a  cow,  at  one  poke. 

Tossed  her  into  an  oak, 
Before  the  old  gentleman  missed  her. 


There  was  a  young  man  of  St.  Kitts 
Who  was  very  much  troubled  with  fits; 

The  eclipse  of  the  moon 

Threw  him  into  a  swoon. 
When  he  tumbled  and  broke  into  bits. 


There  was  an  old  man  who  said,  "  Gee  I 
/  can't  multiply  seven  by  three! 

Though  fourteen  seems  plenty, 
It  might  come  to  twenty, — 
I  haven't  the  slightest  idee!" 


836  Whimsey 

There  was  an  old  man  in  a  pie, 
Who  said,  "  I  must  fly !    I  must  fly !  " 
When  they  said,  "  You  can't  do  it !  " 
He  replied  that  he  knew  it, 
But  he  had  to  get  out  of  that  pie ! 


A  Tutor  who  tooted  the  flute 

Tried  to  teach  two  young  tooters  to  toot; 

Said  the  two  to  the  Tutor, 

"  Is  it  harder  to  toot,  or 
To  tutor  two  tooters  to  toot  ? " 

Carolyn  Wells. 


REaTED  BY  A  CHINESE  INFANT 

If-itty-teshi-mow  Jays* 
Haddee  ny  up-plo-now-shi-buh  nays ; 
ha!  ha! 

He  lote  im  aw  dow. 

Witty  motti-fy  flow; 
A-flew-ty  ho-lot-itty  flays !    Hee ! 

Translation 

Infinitesimal  James 

Had  nine  unpronounceable  names; 

He  wrote  them  all  down, 

With  a  mortified  frown, 
And  threw  the  whole  lot  in  the  flames. 


/ 


For  beauty  I  am  not  a  star. 

There  are  others  more  handsome  by  far; 

But  my  face  I  don't, mind  it, 

For  I  am  behind  it. 
It's  the  people  in  front  that  I  jar. 


There  was  a  young  lady  of  Oakham, 

Who  would  steal  your  cigars  and  then  soak  'em 


Limericks  837 

In  treacle  and  rum, 
And  then  smear  them  with  gum, 
So  it  wasn't  a  pleasure  to  smoke  'em. 


There  was  an  Old  Man  in  a  tree 
Who  was  horribly  bored  by  a  bee; 
When  they  said,  "Does  it  buzz?" 
•^  He  replied,  *'  Yes,  it  does ! 

It's  a  regular  brute  of  a  bee." 

Edward  Lear. 

There  was  an  Old  Man  of  St.  Bees 
Who  was  stung  in  the  arm  by  a  wasp. 

When  asked,  "Does  it  hurt?"  . 

He  replied,  "  No,  it  doesn't, 
But  I  thought  all  the  while  'twas  a  hornet." 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 

There  was  an  old  man  of  the  Rhine, 
When  asked  at  what  hour  he  would  dine, 
p>^  Replied,  "  At  eleven. 

Four,  six,  three  and  seven, 
And  eight  and  a  quarter  of  nine." 

There  was  a  young  man  of  Laconia, 
Whose  mother-in-law  had  pneumonia; 
£^        He  hoped  for  the  worst, 
And  after  March  first 
They  buried  her  'neath  a  begonia. 


There  was  a  young  man  of  the  cape 
Who  always  wore  trousers  of  crepe; 
^      When  asked,  " Don't  they  tear? " 

He  replied,  "  Here  and  there ; 
But  they  keep  such  a  beautiful  shape." 

There  once  were  some  learned  M.D.'s, 
Who  captured  some  germs  of  disease. 


838  Whimsey 

And  infected  a  train. 
Which  without  causing  pain, 
Allowed  one  to  catch  it  with  ease. 

Oliver  Herford. 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Lynn, 

Who  was  deep  in  original  sin; 

When  they  said,  "  Do  be  good,"  , 

She  said,  "  Would  if  I  could !  " 

And  straightway  went  at  it  ag'in. 


\/i' 


d  rather  have  fingers  than  toes; 
Fd  rather  have  ears  than  a  nose; 
And  as  for  my  hair 
I'm  glad  it's  all  there, 
I'll  be  awfully  sad  when  it  goes. 

Gelett  Burgess. 

J 

There  was  a  young  fellow  named  Clyde; 

Who  was  once  at  a  funeral  spied. 

When  asked  who  was  dead, 

He  smilingly  said, 
"7  don't  know, — I  just  came  for  the  ride!  " 


There  was  a  young  lady  of  Truro, 
Who  wished  a  mahogany  bureau ; 

But  her  father  said,  "  Dod ! 

All  the  men  on  Cape  Cod 
Couldn't  buy  a  mahogany  bureau  I " 

There  was  a  young  man  of  Ostend 
Who  vowed  he'd  hold  out  to  the  end, 

But  when  halfway  over 

From  Calais  to  Dover, 
He  done  what  he  didn't  intend — 

There  was  a  young  man  of  Cohoes, 
Wore  tar  on  the  end  of  his  nose ; 


Limericks  839 

When  asked  why  he  done  it, 
He  said  for  the  fun  it 
Afforded  the  men  of  Cohoes. 

Robert  /.  Burdette, 

There  is  a  young  artist  called  Whistler, 
Who  in  every  respect  is  a  bristler; 

A  tube  of  white  lead. 

Or  a  punch  on  the  head. 
Come  equally  handy  to  Whistler. 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 

There  is  a  creator  named  God, 

Whose  doings  are  sometimes  quite  odd; 

He  made  a  painter  named  Val, 

And  I  say  and  I  shall, 
That  he  does  no  great  credit  to  God. 

/.  M.  Whistler. 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  station, 

"  I  love  man !  "  was  her  sole  exclamation ; 

But  when  men  cried,  "  You  flatter !  " 

She  replied,  "  Oh,  no  matter ! 
Isle  of  Man,  is  the  true  explanation." 

Lewis  Carroll. 

I  There  was  a  young  lady  of  Twickenham, 
Whose  shoes  were  too  tight  to  walk  quick  in  'em; 
She  came  back  from  her  walk, 
Looking  white  as  a  chalk. 
And  took  'em  both  off  and  was  sick  in  'em. 

Oliver  Her  ford. 

"  It's  a  very  warm  day,"  observed  Billy. 
f "  I  hope  that  you  won't  think  it  silly 
If  I  say  that  this  heat 
Makes  me  think  'twould  be  sweet 
If  one  were  a  coolie  in  Chile !  " 

Tudor  J^nks. 


840  Whimsey 

There  was  a  young  man  from  Cornell, 
Who  said,  "  I'm  aware  of  a  smell, 

But  whether  it's  drains 

Or  human  remains, 
I'm  really  unable  to  tell." 

There  was  a  young  lady  from  Joppa, 
Whose  friends  all  decided  to  drop  her; 

She  went  with  a  friend 

On  a  trip  to  Ostend, — 
And  the  rest  of  the  story's  improper. 

There  once  was  a  sculptor  named  Phidias, 
Whose  statues  by  some  were  thought  hideous ; 

He  made  Aphrodite 

Without  any  nighty. 
Which  shocked  all  the  ultra-fastidious. 

John  woke  on  Jan.  first  and  felt  queer; 

Said,  "  Crackers  I'll  swear  off  this  year ! 
For  the  lobster  and  wine 
And  the  rabbit  were  fine, — 

And  it  certainly  wasn't  the  beer." 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Venice 
Who  used  hard-boiled  eggs  to  play  tennis; 
J        When  they  said,  "  You  are  wrong," 
She  replied,  "  Go  along ! 
You  don't  know  how  prolific  my  hen  is!  " 

There  was  a  young  man  of  Fort  Blainey, 
Who  proposed  to  his  typist  named  Janey; 

When  his  friends  said,  '^  Oh,  dear! 

She's  so  old  and  so  queer ! " 
He  replied,  "  But  the  day  was  so  rainy !  " 


XIII 

NONSENSE 

LUNAR  STANZAS 

Night  saw  the  crew  like  pedlers  with  their  packs 
Altho'  it  were  too  dear  to  pay  for  eggs; 

Walk  crank  along  with  coffin  on  their  backs 
While  in  their  arms  they  bow  their  weary  legs. 

And  yet  'twas  strange,  and  scarce  can  one  suppose 
That  a  brown  buzzard-fly  should  steal  and  wear 

His  white  jean  breeches  and  black  woollen  hose, 
But  thence  that  flies  have  souls  is  very  clear. 

But,  Holy  Father !  what  shall  save  the  soul. 

When  cobblers  ask  three  dollars  for  their  shoes? 

When  cooks  their  biscuits  with  a  shot-tower  roll, 
And  farmers  rake  their  hay-cocks  with  their  hoes. 

Yet,  'twere  profuse  to  see  for  pendant  light, 

A  tea-pot  dangle  in  a  lady's  ear; 
And  'twere  indelicate,  although  she  might 

Swallow  two  whales  and  yet  the  moon  shine  clear. 

But  what  to  me  are  woven  clouds,  or  what, 

If  dames  from  spiders  learn  to  warp  their  looms? 

If  coal-black  ghosts  turn  soldiers  for  the  State, 
With  wooden  eyes,  and  lightning-rods  for  plumes? 

Oh !  too,  too  shocking !  barbarous,  savage  taste ! 

To  eat  one's  mother  ere  itself  was  bom! 
To  gripe  the  tall  town-steeple  by  the  waste, 

And  scoop  it  out  to  be  his  drinking-horn. 
841 


842  Nonsense 

No  more:  no  more!    I'm  sick  and  dead  and  gone; 

Boxed  in  a  coffin,  stifled  six  feet  deep ; 
Thorns,  fat  and  fearless,  prick  my  skin  and  bone, 

And  revel  o'er  me,  like  a  soulless  sheep. 

Henry  Coggswell  Knight. 


THE  WHANGO  TREE 

The  woggly  bird  sat  on  the  whango  tree, 

Nooping  the  rinkum  corn, 
And  graper  and  graper,  alas!  grew  he. 

And  cursed  the  day  he  was  born. 
His  crute  was  clum  and  his  voice  was  rum. 

As  curiously  thus  sang  he, 
"  Oh,  would  I'd  been  rammed  and  eternally  clammed 

Ere  I  perched  on  this  whango  tree." 


Now  the  whango  tree  had  a  bubbly  thorn, 

As  sharp  as  a  nootie's  bill, 
And  it  stuck  in  the  woggly  bird's  umptum  lorn 

And  weepadge,  the  smart  did  thrill. 
He  fumbled  and  cursed,  but  that  wasn't  the  worst, 

For  he  couldn't  at  all  get  free. 
And  he  cried,  "  I  am  gammed,  and  injustibly  nammed 

On  the  luggardly  whango  tree." 


And  there  he  sits  still,  with  no  worm  in  his  bill, 

Nor  no  guggledom  in  his  nest; 
He  is  hungry  and  bare,  and  gobliddered  with  care, 

And  his  grabbles  give  him  no  rest; 
He  is  weary  and  sore  and  his  tugmut  is  soar, 

And  nothing  to  nob  has  he. 
As  he  chirps,  "  I  am  blammed  and  corruptibly  jammed, 

In  this  cuggerdom  whango  tree." 

Unknown. 


Cossimbazar  843 


THREE  CHILDREN 

Three  children  sliding  on  the  ice 

Upon  a  summer's  day, 
As  it  fell  out  they  all  fell  in, 

The  rest  they  ran  away. 

Now,  had  these  children  been  at  home. 

Or  sliding  on  dry  ground, 
Ten  thousand  pounds  to  one  penny 

They  had  not  all  been  drowned. 

You  parents  all  that  children  have, 
And  you  too  that  have  none, 

If  you  would  have  them  safe  abroad 
Pray  keep  them  safe  at  home. 


Unknown. 


'TIS  MIDNIGHT 

'Tis  midnight,  and  the  setting  sun 

Is  slowly  rising  in  the  west; 
The  rapid  rivers  slowly  run, 

The  frog  is  on  his  downy  nest. 
The  pensive  goat  and  sportive  cow, 
Hilarious,  leap  from  bough  to  bough. 

Unknown. 


COSSIMBAZAR 

Come  fleetly,  come  fleetly,  my  hookabadar, 
For  the  sound  of  the  tam-tam  is  heard  from  afar. 
"  Banoolah !  Banoolah !  "    The  Brahmins  are  nigh. 
And  the  depths  of  the  jungle  re-echo  their  cry. 

Pestonjee  Bomanjee! 

Smite  the  guitar; 
Join  in  the  chorus,  my  hookabadar. 


844  Nonsense 

Heed  not  the  blast  of  the  deadly  monsoon, 

Nor  the  blue  Brahmaputra  that  gleams  in  the  moon 

Stick  to  thy  music,  and  oh,  let  the  sound 

Be  heard  with  distinctness  a  mile  or  two  round. 

Jamsetjee,  JeejeehhoyI 

Sweep  the  guitar. 
Join  in  the  chorus,  my  hookabadar. 

Art  thou  a  Buddhist,  or  dost  thou  indeed 
Put  faith  in  the  monstrous  Mohammedan  creed? 
Art  thou  a  Ghebir — a  blinded  Parsee? 
Not  that  it  matters  an  atom  to  me. 

Cursetjee  Bomanjee! 

Twang  the  guitar 
Join  in  the  chorus,  my  hookabadar. 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


AN  UNSUSPECTED  FACT 

If  down  his  throat  a  man  should  choose 

In  fun,  to  jump  or  slide, 

He'd  scrape  his  shoes  against  his  teeth, 

Nor  dirt  his  own  inside. 

But  if  his  teeth  were  lost  and  gone. 

And  not  a  stump  to  scrape  upon. 

He'd  see  at  once  how  very  pat 

His  tongue  lay  there  by  way  of  mat, 

And  he  would  wipe  his  feet  on  that! 

Edward  Cannon. 


THE  CUMBERBUNCE 

I  STROLLED  bcsidc  the  shining  sea, 

I  was  as  lonely  as  could  be; 

No  one  to  cheer  me  in  my  walk 

But  stones  and  sand,  which  cannot  talk — 

Sand  and  stones  and  bits  of  shell. 

Which  nerer  have  a  thing  to  tell. 


The  Cumberbunce  84)5 

But  as  I  sauntered  by  the  tide 
I  saw  a  something  at  my  side, 
A  something  green,  and  blue,  and  pink. 
And  brown,  and  purple,  too,  I  think. 
I  would  not  say  how  large  it  was; 
I  would  not  venture  that,  because 
It  took  me  rather  by  surprise, 
And  I  have  not  the  best  of  eyes. 

Should  you  compare  it  to  a  cat, 
I'd  say  it  was  as  large  as  that; 
Or  should  you  ask  me  if  the  thing 
Was  smaller  than  a  sparrow's  wing, 
I  should  be  apt  to  think  you  knew. 
And  simply  answer,  "  Very  true !  " 

Well,  as  I  looked  upon  the  thing, 
It  murmured,  *' Please,  sir,  can  I  sing?'* 
And  then  I  knew  its  name  at  once — 
It  plainly  was  a  Cumberbunce. 

You  are  amazed  that  I  could  tell 

The  creature's  name  so  quickly?    Well, 

I  knew  it  was  not  a,  paper-doll, 

A  pencil  or  a  parasol, 

A  tennis-racket  or  a  cheese. 

And,  as  it  was  not  one  of  these, 

And  I  am  not  a  perfect  dunce — 

It  had  to  be  a  Cumberbunce! 

With  pleading  voice  and  tearful  eye 

It  seemed  as  though  about  to  cry. 

It  looked  so  pitiful  and  sad 

It  made  me  feel  extremely  bad. 

My  heart  was  softened  to  the  thing 

That  asked  me  if  it,  please,  could  sing. 

Its  little  hand  I  longed  to  shake, 

But,  oh,  it  had  no  hand  to  take! 

I  bent  and  drew  the  creature  near. 

And  whispered  in  its  pale  blue  ear, 

"What!     Sing,  my  Cumberbunce?    You  can! 

Sing  on,  sing  loudly,  little  man! " 


846  Nonsense 

The  Cumberbunce,  without  ado, 
Gazed  sadly  on  the  ocean  blue, 
And,  lifting  up  its  little  head, 
In  tones  of  awful  longing,  said: 

"  Oh,  I  would  sing  of  mackerel  skies, 

And  why  the  sea  is  wet. 
Of  jelly-fish  and  conger-eels. 

And  things  that  I  forget. 
And  I  would  hum  a  plaintive  tune 

Of  why  the  waves  are  hot 
As  water  boiling  on  a  stove. 

Excepting  that  they're  not! 

"  And  I  would  sing  of  hooks  and  eyes. 

And  why  the  sea  is  slant, 
And  gayly  tips  the  little  ships, 

Excepting  that  I  can't ! 
I  never  sang  sc  single  song, 

I  never  hummed  a  note. 
There  is  in  me  no  melody. 

No  music  in  my  throat. 

"  So  that  is  why  I  do  not  sing 

Of  sharks,  or  whales,  or  anything  I  " 

I  looked  in  innocent  surprise, 

My  wonder  showing  in  my  eyes. 

"  Then  why,  O,  Cumberbunce,"  I  cried, 

"  Did  you  come  walking  at  my  side 

And  ask  me  if  you,  please,  might  sing, 

When  you  could  not  warble  anything  ? " 

"  I  did  not  ask  permission,  sir, 
I  really  did  not,  I  aver. 
You,  sir,  misunderstood  me,  quite. 
I  did  not  ask  you  if  I  might. 
Had  you  correctly  understood, 
You'd  know  I  asked  you  if  I  could. 


Mr.  Finney's  Turnip  847 

So,  ag  I  cannot  sing  a  song, 
Your  answer,  it  is  plain,  was  wrong. 
The  fact  I  could  not  sing  I  knew, 
But  wanted  your  opinion,  too." 

A  voice  came  softly  o'er  the  lea. 

"  Farewell !  my  mate  is  calling  me !  " 

I  saw  the  creature  disappear. 

Its  voice,  in  parting,  smote  my  ear — 

"  I  thought  all  people  understood 

The  difference  'twixt  '  might '   and  '  could  * !  " 

Paul  West. 


ME.  FINNEY'S  TUKNIP 

Mr.  Finney  had  a  turnip 

And  it  grew  and  it  grew; 
And  it  grew  behind  the  barn, 

And  that  turnip  did  no  harm. 

There  it  grew  and  it  grew 

Till  it  could  grow  no  longer; 
Then  his  daughter  Lizzie  picked  it 

And  put  it  in  the  cellar. 

There  it  lay  and  it  lay  ' 

Till  it  began  to  rot; 
And  his  daughter  Susie  took  it 

And  put  it  in  the  pot. 

And  they  boiled  it  and  boiled  it 

As  long  as  they  were  able. 
And  then  his  daughters  took  it 

And  put  it  on  the  table. 

Mr.  Finney  and  his  wife 

They  sat  down  to  sup; 
And  they  ate  and  they  ate 

And  they  ate  that  turnip  up. 

Unknown. 


848  Nonsense 


NONSENSE  VEKSES  ' 

Lazy-bones,  lazy-bones,  wake  up  and  peep ! 
The  cat's  in  the  cupboard,  your  mother's  asleep. 
There  you  sit  snoring,  forgetting  her  ills; 
Who  is  to  give  her  her  Bolus  and  Pills  ? 
Twenty  fine  Angels  must  come  into  town. 
All  for  to  help  you  to  make  your  new  gown : 
Dainty  aerial  Spinsters  and  Singers; 
Aren't  you  ashamed  to  employ  such  white  fingers? 
Delicate  hands,  unaccustom'd  to  reels, 
To  set  'em  working  a  poor  body's  wheels? 
Why  they  came  down  is  to  me  all  a  riddle, 
And  left  Hallelujah  broke  off  in  the  middle: 
Jove's  Court,  and  the  Presence  angelical,  cut — 
To  eke  out  the  work  of  a  lazy  young  slut. 
Angel-duck,  Angel-duck,  winged  and  silly, 
Pouring  a  watering-pot  over  a  lily, 
Gardener  gratuitous,  careless  of  pelf. 
Leave  her  to  water  her  lily  herself. 
Or  to  neglect  it  to  death  if  she  chuse  it: 
Remember  the  loss  is  her  own  if  she  lose  it. 

Charles  Lamb. 


LIKE  TO  THE  THUNDERING  TONE 

Like  to  the  thundering  tone  of  unspoke  speeches, 
Or  like  a  lobster  clad  in  logic  breeches, 
Or  like  the  gray  fur  of  a  crimson  cat. 
Or  like  the  mooncalf  in  a  slipshod  hat; 
E'en  such  is  he  who  never  was  begotten 
Until  his  children  were  both  dead  and  rotten. 

Like  to  the  fiery  tombstone  of  a  cabbage. 

Or  like  a  crab-louse  with  its  bag  and  baggage. 

Or  like  the  four  square  circle  of  a  ring, 

Or  like  to  hey  ding,  ding-a,  ding-a,  ding; 

E'en  such  is  he  who  spake,  and  yet,  no  doubt. 

Spake  to  small  purpose,  when  his  tongue  was  out. 


Uncle  Simon  and  Uncle  Jim  849 

Like  to  a  fair,  fresh,  fading,  vvither'd  rose. 
Or  like  to  rhyming  verse  that  runs  in  prose, 
Or  like  the  stimibles  of  a  tinder-box, 
Or  like  a  man  that's  sound  yet  sickness  mocks; 
E'en  such  is  he  who  died  and  yet  did  laugh 
To  see  these  lines  writ  for  his  epitaph.  • 

Bishop  Corbet  in  17th  century. 


ESTIVATION 

In  candent  ire  the  solar  splendour  flames; 
The  foles,  languescent,  pend  from  arid  rames; 
His  humid  front  the  cive,  anheling,  wipes, 
And  dreams  of  erring  on  ventiferous  ripes. 

How  dolce  to  vive  occult  to  mortal  eyes, 
Dorm  on  the  herb  with  none  to  supervise, 
Carp  the  suave  berries  from  the  crescent  vine. 
And  bibe  the  flow  from  longicaudate  kine ! 

To  me,  alas!  no  verdurous  visions  come, 
Save  yon  exiguous  pool's  conferva-scum — 
No  concave  vast  repeats  the  tender  hue 
That  laves  my  milk-jug  with  celestial  blue. 

Me  wretched !  let  me  curr  to  quercine  shades ! 
EflFund  your  albid  hausts,  lactiferous  maids! 
Oh,  might  I  vole  to  some  umbrageous  clump, — 
Depart — be  off, — excede, — evade, — erump ! 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 


UNCLE  SIMON  AND  UNCLE  JIM 

Uncle  Simon  he 
Clumb  up  a  tree 
To  see 

What  he  could  see. 
When  presentlee 


850  Nonsense 


Uncle  Jim 

Clumb  up  beside  of  him 

And  squatted  down  by  he. 

Charles  Farrar  Browne  (Artemus  Ward). 


A  TKAGIC  STORY 

There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore, 
And  he  a  handsome  pigtail  wore ; 
But  wondered  much  and  sorrowed  more, 
Because  it  hung  behind  him. 

He  mused  upon  this  curious  case, 
And  swore  he'd  change  the  pigtail's  place, 
And  have  it  hanging  at  his  face, 
Not  dangling  there  behind  him. 

Says  he,  "  The  mystery  I've  found, — 
I'll  turn  me  round," — he  turned  him  round ; 
But  still  it  hung  behind  him. 

Then  round  and  round,  and  out  and  in. 
All  day  the  puzzled  sage  did  spin ; 
In  vain — it  mattered  not  a  pin, — 
The  pigtail  hung  behind  him. 

And  right  and  left,  and  round  about, 
And  up  and  down,  and  in  and  out. 
He  turned ;  but  still  the  pigtail  stout 
Hung  steadily  behind  him. 

And  though  his  efforts  never  slack, 
And  though  he  twist  and  twirl  and  tack, 
Alas !  still  faithful  to  his  back, 
The  pigtail  hangs  behind  him. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 


The  Jim-Jam  King  of  the  Jou-Jous  861 


SONNET  FOUND  IN  A  DESEKTED  MAD  HOUSE 

Oh  that  my  soul  a  marrow-bone  might  seize ! 

For  the  old  egg  of  my  desire  is  broken, 

Spilled  is  the  pearly  white  and  spilled  the  yolk,  and 

As  the  mild  melancholy  contents  grease 

My  path  the  shorn  lamb  baas  like  bumblebees. 

Time's  trashy  purse  is  as  a  taken  token 

Or  like  a  thrilling  recitation,  spoken 

By  mournful  mouths  filled  full  of  mirth  and  cheese. 

And  yet,  why  should  I  clasp  the  earthf ul  urn  ? 
Or  find  the  frittered  fig  that  felt  the  fast? 
Or  choose  to  chase  the  cheese  around  the  chum  ? 
Or  swallow  any  pill  from  out  the  past? 
Ah,  no  Love,  not  while  your  hot  kisses  burn 
Like  a  potato  riding  on  the  blast. 

Unknown. 


THE  JIM-JAM  KING  OF  THE  JOU-JOUS 

AN   ARABIAN   LEGEND 

Translated  from  the  Arabic 

Far  off  in  the  waste  of  desert  sand, 
The  Jim- jam  rules  in  the  Jou-jou  land: 
He  sits  on  a  throne  of  red-hot  rocks. 
And  moccasin  snakes  are  his  curling  locks ; 
And  the  Jou-jous  have  the  conniption  fits 
In  the  far-off  land  where  the  Jim-jam  sits— 
If  things  are  now  as  things  were  then. 
Allah  il  Allah!    Oo-aye!    Amen! 

The  country's  so  dry  in  Jou-jou  land 
You  could  wet  it  down  with  Sahara  sand. 
And  over  its  boundaries  the  air 
Is  hotter  than  'tis — no  matter  where : 
A  camel  drops  down  completely  tanned 
When  he  crosses  the  line  in  Jou-jou  land — 


852  Nonsense 

If  things  are  now  as  things  were  then. 
Allah  il  Allah!     Oo-aye!    Amen! 

A  traveller  once  got  stuck  in  the  sand 
On  the  fiery  edge  of  Jou-jou  land; 
The  Jou-jous  they  confiscated  him, 
And  the  Jim-jam  tore  him  limb  from  limb; 
But,  dying,  he  said :  "  If  eaten  I  am, 
I'll  disagree  with  this  Dam-jim-jam! 
He'll  think  his  stomach's  a  Hoodoo's  den ! " 
Allah  il  Allah!    Oo-aye!     Amen! 

Then  the  Jim-jam  felt  so  bad  inside. 
It  just  about  humbled  his  royal  pride. 
He  decided  to  physic  himself  with  sand. 
And  throw  up  his  job  in  the  Jou-jou  land. 
He  descended  his  throne  of  red-hot  rocks, 
And  hired  a  barber  to  cut  his  locks: 
The  barber  died  of  the  got-'em-again. 
Allah  il  Allah !    Oo-aye !    Amen ! 

And  now  let  every  good  Mussulman 
Get  all  the  good  from  this  tale  he  can.     * 
If  you  wander  off  on  a  Jamboree, 
Across  the  stretch  of  the  desert  sea. 
Look  out  that  right  at  the  height  of  your  booze 
You  don't  get  caught  by  the  Jou-jou-jous! 
You  may,  for  the  Jim-jam's  at  it  again. 
Allah  il  Allah !    Oo-aye !    Amen ! 

Alaric  Bertrand  Stuart. 


TO  MARIE 

When  the  breeze  from  the  bluebottle's  blustering  blim 

Twirls  the  toads  in  a  tooroomaloo. 
And  the  whiskery  whine  of  the  wheedlesome  whim 

Drowns  the  roll  of  the  rattatattoo. 
Then  I  dream  in  the  shade  of  the  shally-go-shee. 

And  the  voice  of  the  bally-molay 
Brings  the  smell  of  stale  poppy-cods  blummered  in  blee 

From  the  willy-wad  over  the  way. 


The  Rollicking  Mastodon  863 

Ah,  the  shuddering  shoo  and  the  blinketty-blanks 

When  the  yungalung  falls  from  the  bough 
In  the  blast  of  a  hurricane's  hicketty-hanks 

On  the  hills  of  the  hoeketty-how ! 
Give  the  rigamarole  to  the  clangery-whang, 

If  they  care  for  such  fiddlededee; 
But  the  thingumbob  kiss  of  the  whangery-bang 

Keeps  the  higgledy-piggle  for  me. 

l'enyoi 
It  is  pilly-po-doddle  and  aligobung 

When  the  lollypop  covers  the  ground, 
Yet  the  poldiddle  perishes  punketty-pung 

When  the  heart  jimmy-coggles  around. 
If  the  soul  cannot  snoop  at  the  giggle-some  cart. 

Seeking  surcease  in  gluggety-glug. 
It  is  useless  to  say  to  the  pulsating  heart, 

"  Panky-doodle  ker-chuggetty-chug !  " 

John  Bennett. 


MY  DREAM 

I  DREAMED  a  dream  next  Tuesday  week. 

Beneath  the  apple-trees; 
I  thought  my  eyes  were  big  pork-pies, 

And  my  nose  was  Stilton  cheese. 
The  clock  struck  twenty  minutes  to  six. 

When  a  frog  sat  on  my  knee ; 
I  asked  him  to  lend  me  eighteenpence. 

But  he  borrowed  a  shilling  of  me. 

Unknown. 


THE  ROLLICKING  MASTODON 

A  ROLLICKING  Mastodon  lived  in  Spain, 
In  the  trunk  of  a  Tranquil  Tree. 

His  face  was  plain,  but  his  jocular  vein 
Was  a  burst  of  the  wildest  glee. 

His  voice  was  strong  and  his  laugh  so  long 


854  Nonsense 

That  people  came  many  a  mile, 
And  offered  to  pay  a  guinea  a  day 
For  the  fractional  part  of  a  smile. 

The  Kollicking  Mastodon's  laugh  was  wide — 
Indeed,  'twas  a  matter  of  family  pride; 

And  oh!  so  proud  of  his  jocular  vein 
Was  the  Rollicking  Mastodon  over  in  Spain. 

The  Rollicking  Mastodon  said  one  day, 

"I  feel  that  I  need  some  air. 
For  a  little  ozone's  a  tonic  for  bones, 

As  well  as  a  gloss  for  the  hair." 
So  he  skipped  along  and  warbled  a  song 

In  his  own  triumphulant  way. 
His  smile  was  bright  and  his  skip  was  light 

As  he  chirruped  his  roundelay. 

The  Rollicking  Mastodon  tripped  along, 
And  sang  what  Mastodons  call  a  song; 

But  every  note  of  it  seemed  to  pain 

The  Rollicking  Mastodon  over  in  Spain.   . 

A  Little  Peetookle  came  over  the  hill, 

Dressed  up  in  a  bollitant  coat; 
And  he  said,  "  You  need  some  harroway  seed, 

And  a  little  advice  for  your  throat." 
The  Mastodon  smiled  and  said,  *^  My  child. 

There's  a  chance  for  your  taste  to  grow. 
If  you  polish  your  mind,  you'll  certainly  find 

How  little,  how  little  you  know." 

The  Little  Peetookle,  his  teeth  he  ground 
At  the  Mastodon's  singular  sense  of  sound ; 

For  he  felt  it  a  sort  of  a  musical  stain 
On  the  Rollicking  Mastodon  over  in  Spain. 

Alas !  and  alas !  has  it  come  to  this  pass  ?  " 
Said  the  Little  Peetookle.    "  Dear  me ! 

It  certainly  seems  your  horrible  screams 
Intended  for  music  must  be ! " 


Spirk  Troll-Derisive  855 

The  Mastodon  stopped,  his  ditty  he  dropped, 
And  murmured,  "  Good  morning,  my  dear! 

I  never  will  sing  to  a  sensitive  thing 
That  shatters  a  song  with  a  sneer !  " 

The  Rollicking  Mastodon  bade  him  "  adieu." 
Of  course  'twas  a  sensible  thing  to  do; 

For  Little  Peetookle  is  spared  the  strain 
Of  the  Rollicking  Mastodon  over  in  Spain. 

Arthur  Macy. 

NONSENSE  VERSES 
THE  INVISIBLE  BRIDGE 

I'd  Never  Dare  to  Walk  across 

A  Bridge  I  Could  Not  See ; 
For  Quite  afraid  of  Falling  off, 

I  fear  that  I  Should  Be! 

THE  LAZY  ROOF 

The  Roof  it  has  a  Lazy  Time 

A-lying  in  the  Sun; 
The  Walls  they  have  to  Hold  Him  Up; 
They  do  Not  Have  Much  Fun ! 

MY  FEET 

My  feet,  they  haul  me  Round  the  House, 

They  Hoist  me  up  the  Stairs; 
I  only  have  to  Steer  them  and 

They  Ride  me  Everywheres. 

Gelett  Burgess. 

SPIRK  TROLL-DERISIVE 

The  Crankadox  leaned  o'er  the  edge  of  the  moon. 

And  wistfully  gazed  on  the  sea 
Where  the  Gryxabodill  madly  whistled  a  tune; 

To  the  air  of  "  Ti-f  ol-de-ding-dee." 


856  ^    Nonsense 

The  quavering  shriek  of  the  Fliupthecreek 

Was  fitfully  wafted  afar 
To  the  Queen  of  the  Wunks  as  she  powdered  her  cheek 

With  the  pulverized  rays  of  a  star. 


The  Gool  closed  his  ear  on  the  voice  of  the  Grig, 

And  his  heart  it  grew  heavy  as  lead 
As  he  marked  the  Baldekin  adjusting  his  wig 

On  the  opposite  side  of  his  head; 
And  the  air  it  grew  chill  as  the  Gryxabodill 

Raised  his  dank,  dripping  fins  to  the  skies 
To  plead  with  the  Plunk  for  the  use  of  her  bill 

To  pick  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes. 


The  ghost  of  the  Zhack  flitted  by  in  a  trance; 

And  the  Squidjum  hid  under  a  tub 
As  he  heard  the  loud  hooves  of  the  Hooken  advance     • 

With  a  rub-a-dub-dub-a-dub  dub! 
And  the  Crankadox  cried  as  he  laid  down  and  died, 

"  My  fate  there  is  none  to  bewail !  " 
While  the  Queen  of  the  Wunks  drifted  over  the  tide 

With  a  long  piece  of  crape  to  her  tail. 

James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON 

Said  the  Raggedy  Man  on  a  hot  afternoon, 
"My! 

Sakes! 

What  a  lot  o'  mistakes 
Some  little  folks  makes  on  the  Man  in  the  Moon 
But  people  that's  been  up  to  see  him  like  Me, 
And  calls  on  him  frequent  and  intimutly. 


The  Man  in  the  Moon  857 

Might  drop  a  few  hints  that  would  interest  you 
Clean ! 

Through! 

If  you  wanted  'em  to — 
Some  actual  facts  that  might  interest  you ! 

"  0  the  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  crick  in  his  back 
Wheel 

Whimm ! 

Ain't  you  sorry  for  him? 
And  a  mole  on  his  nose  that  is  purple  and  black ; 
And  his  eyes  are  so  weak  that  they  water  and  run 
If  he  dares  to  dream  even  he  looks  at  the  sun, — 
So  he  jes'  dreams  of  stars,  as  the  doctor's  advise — 
My! 

Eyes ! 

But  isn't  he  wise — 
To  jes'  dream  of  stars,  as  the  doctors  advise? 

"  And  the  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  boil  on  his  ear — 
Whee! 

Whing! 

What  a  singular  thing ! 
I  know!  but  these  facts  are  authentic,  my  dear, — 
There's  a  boil  on  his  ear;  and  a  corn  on  his  chin, — 
He  calls  it  a  dimple, — but  dimples  stick  in, — 
Yet  it  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know ! 
Whang ! 
Ho! 

Why  certainly  so! — 
It  might  be  a  dimple  turned  over,  you  know ! 

"  And  the  Man  in  the  Moon  has  a  rheumatic  knee, 
Gee! 

Whizz! 

What  a  pity  that  is! 
And  his  toes  have  worked  round  where  his  heels  ought  to  be. 
So  whenever  he  wants  to  go  North  he  goes  South, 
And  comes  back  with  porridge  crumbs  all  round  his  mouth. 


858  Nonsense 

And  he  brushes  them  off  with  a  Japanese  fan, 
Whing! 

Whann ! 

What  a  marvellous  man! 
What  a  very  remarkably  marvellous  man ! 


^'  And  the  Man  in  the  Moon,"  sighed  the  Raggedy  Man, 
"Gits! 
So! 

Sullonesome,  you  know! 
Up  there  by  himself  since  creation  began ! — 
That  when  I  call  on  him  and  then  come  away, 
He  grabs  me  and  holds  me  and  begs  me  to  stay, — 
Till — well,  if  it  wasn't  for  Jimmy -cum- Jim, 
Dadd! 

Limb! 

I'd  go  pardners  with  him ! 
Jes'  jump  my  bob  here  and  be  pardners  with  him!" 

James  Whitcomb  Riley. 


THE  LUGUBRIOUS  WHING-WHANG 

Out  on  the  margin  of  moonshine  land, 

Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs. 
Out  where  the  whing-whang  loves  to  stand 
Writing  his  name  with  his  tail  on  the  sand, 
And  wiping  it  out  with  his  oogerish  hand; 
Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs. 


Is  it  tjie  gibber  of  gungs  and  keeks  ? 

Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs, 
Or  what  is  the  sound  the  whing-whang  seeks. 
Crouching  low  by  the  winding  creeks, 
And  holding  his  breath  for  weeks  and  weeks  ? 

Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs. 


The  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo  869 

Aroint  him  the  wraithest  of  wraithly  things ! 

Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs, 
Tis  a  fair  whing-whangess  with  phosphor  rings, 
And  bridal  jewels  of  fangs  and  stings. 
And  she  sits  and  as  sadly  and  softly  sings 
As  the  mildewed  whir  of  her  own  dead  wings ; 

Tickle  me,  dear ;  tickle  me  here ; 

Tickle  me,  love,  in  these  lonesome  ribs. 

James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


THE  YONGHY-BONGHY-BO 


On  the  Coast  of  Coromandel 

Where  the  early  pumpkins  blow, 

In  the  middle  of  the  woods 
Lived  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
Two  old  chairs,  and  half  a  candle. 
One  old  jug  without  a  handle, — 

These  were  all  his  worldly  goods: 
In  the  middle  of  the  woods, 
These  were  all  the  worldly  goods 
Of  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Of  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


n 
Once,  among  the  Bong-trees  walking 
Where  the  early  pumpkins  blow. 

To  a  little  heap  of  stones 
Came  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
There  he  heard  a  Lady  talking, 
To  some  milk-white  Hens  of  Dorking, 
"'Tis  the  Lady  Jingly  Jones! 
On  that  little  heap  of  stones 
Sits  the  Lady  Jingly  Jones !  " 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


860  Nonsense 

III 
"Lady  Jingly!  Lady  Jingly! 

Sitting  where  the  pumpkins  blow, 

Will  you  come  and  be  ray  wife? " 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
"  I  am  tired  of  living  singly, — 
On  this  coast  so  wild  and  shingly, — 
I'm  a-weary  of  my  life; 
If  you'll  come  and  be  my  wife, 
Quite  serene  would  be  my  life!  '^ 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


IV 

"  On  this  Coast  of  Coromandel 
Shrimps  and  watercresses  grow. 

Prawns  are  plentiful  and  cheap," 
.  Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
"  You  shall  have  my  chairs  and  candle, 
And  my  jug  without  a  handle! 
Gaze  upon  the  rolling  deep 
(Fish  is  plentiful  and  cheap)  : 
As  the  sea,  my  love  is  deep ! " 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


V 

Lady  Jingly  answered  sadly, 
And  her  tears  began  to  flow, — 

"  Your  proposal  comes  too  late, 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
I  would  be  your  wife  most  gladly!'^ 
(Here  she  twirled  her  fingers  madly,) 
"  But  in  England  I've  a  mate ! 
Yes!  you've  asked  me  far  too  late. 
For  in  England  I've  a  mate, 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 


The  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo  861 

VI 

"  Mr.  Jones  (his  name  is  Handel, — 
Handel  Jones,  Esquire  &  Co.) 

Dorking  fowls  delights  to  send, 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
Keep,  oh,  keep  your  chairs  and  candle, 
And  your  jug  without  a  handle, — 
I  can  merely  be  your  friend ! 
Should  my  Jones  more  Dorkings  send, 
I  will  give  you  three,  my  friend! 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 


rn 
"  Though  youVe  such  a  tiny  body, 
And  your  head  so  large  doth  grow, — 
Though  your  hat  may  blow  away, 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 
Though  you're  such  a  Hoddy  Doddy, 
Yet  I  wish  that  I  could  modi- 
fy the  words  I  needs  must  say ! 
Will  you  please  to  go  away? 
That  is  all  I  have  to  say, 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! 
Mr.  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo ! " 


vm 
Down  the  slippery  slopes  of  Myrtle, 
Where  the  early  pumpkins  blow. 

To  the  calm  and  silent  sea 
Fled  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
There,  beyond  the  Bay  of  Gurtle, 
Lay  a  large  and  lively  Turtle. 

"  You're  the  Cove,"  he  said,  "  for  me ! 
On  your  back  beyond  the  sea. 
Turtle,  you  shall  carry  me !  " 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Said  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 


862  Nonsense 

IX 

Through  the  silent  roaring  ocean 
Did  the  Turtle  swiftly  go; 

Holding  fast  upon  his  shell 
Rode  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
With  a  sad  primaeval  motion 
Toward  the  sunset  isles  of  Boshen 
Still  the  Turtle  bore  him  well, 
Holding  fast  upon  his  shell. 
"  Lady  Jingly  Jones,  farewell !  " 
Sang  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
Sang  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


From  the  Coast  of  Coromandel 
Did  that  Lady  never  go, 

On  that  heap  of  stones  she  mourns 
For  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 
On  that  Coast  of  Coromandel, 
In  his  jug  without  a  handle 

Still  she  weeps,  and  daily  moans; 
On  the  little  heap  of  stones 
To  her  Dorking  Hens  she  moans, 
For  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, 
For  the  Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. 


Edward  Lear. 


THE  JUMBLIES 

I 
They  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve,  they  did ; 

In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea: 
In  spite  of  all  their  freinds  could  say. 
On  a  winter's  morn,  on  a  stormy  day. 

In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea. 
And  when  the  sieve  turned  round  and  round, 
And  every  one  cried,  "  You'll  all  be  drowned ! " 
They  called  aloud,  "  Our  sieve  ain't  big; 
But  we  don't  care  a  button,  we  don't  care  a  fig: 

In  a  sieve  we'll  go  to  sea  I " 


The  Jumblies  863 

Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue; 

And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


n 

They  sailed  away  in  a  sieve,  they  did. 

In  a  sieve  they  sailed  so  fast, 
With  only  a  beautiful  pea-green  veil 
Tied  with  a  ribbon  by  way  of  a  sail. 

To  a  small  tobacco-pipe  mast. 
And  every  one  said  who  saw  them  go, 
"  Oh !  won't  they  soon  be  upset,  you  know  ? 
For  the  sky  is  dark  and  the  voyage  is  long, 
And,  happen  what  may,  it's  extremely  wrong 
In  a  sieve  to  sail  so  fast." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few. 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live; 
Their  heads  are  green  and  their  hands  are  blue; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


m 

The  water  it  soon  came  in,  it  did; 

The  water  it  soon  came  in: 
So,  to  keep  them  dry,  they  wrapped  their  feet 
In  a  pinky  paper  all  folded  neat; 

And  they  fastened  it  down  with  a  pin. 
And  they  passed  the  night  in  a  crockery-jar; 
And  each  of  them  said,  "  How  wise  we  are! 
Though  the  sky  be  dark,  and  the  voyage  be  long, 
Yet  we  never  can  think  we  were  rash  or  wrong. 
While  round  in  our  sieve  we  spin." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few. 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live; 
Their  heads  are  green  and  their  hands  are  blue; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


864«  Nonsense 

IV 

And  all  night  long  they  sailed  away; 

And  when  the  sun  went  down, 
They  whistled  and  warbled  a  moony  song 
To  the  echoing  sound  of  a  coppery  gong, 
In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown. 
"  O  Timballoo !    How  happy  we  are 
When  we  live  in  a  sieve  and  a  crockery-jar! 
And  all  night  long,  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
We  sail  away  with  a  pea-green  sail 
In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live ; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

V 

They  sailed  to  the  Western  Sea,  they  did, — 

To  a  land  all  covered  with  trees ; 
And  they  bought  an  owl  and  a  useful  cart, 
And  a  pound  of  rice,  and  a  cranberry-tart, 

And  a  hive  of  silvery  bees; 
And  they  bought  a  pig,  and  some  green  jackdaws. 
And  a  lovely  monkey  with  lollipop  paws. 
And  forty  bottles  of  ring-bo-ree. 
And  no  end  of  Stilton  cheese. 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few. 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

VI 

And  in  twenty  years  they  all  came  back, — 

In  twenty  years  or  more; 
And  every  one  said,  "  How  tall  they've  grown ! 
For  theyVe  been  to  the  Lakes,  and  the  Terrible  Zone, 

And  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 
And  they  drank  their  health,  and  gave  them  a  feast 
Of  dumplings  made  of  beautiful  yeast; 
And  every  one  said,  "  If  we  only  live. 
We,  too,  will  go  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


The  Pobble  Who  Has  no  Toes  865 

To  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few. 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live; 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

Edward  Lear, 


THE  POBBLE  WHO  HAS  NO  TOES 

The  Pobble  who  has  no  toes 

Had  once  as  many  as  we; 
When  they  said,  "  Some  day  you  may  lose  them  all," 

He  replied,  "  Fish  fiddle  de-dee!  " 
And  his  Aunt  Jobiska  made  him  drink 
Lavender  water  tinged  with  pink; 
For  she  said,  "  The  World  in  general  knows 
There's  nothing  so  good  for  a  Pebble's  toes !  '* 

The  Pobble  who  has  no  toes 

Swam  across  the  Bristol  Channel; 
But  before  he  set  out  he  wrapped  his  nose 

In  a  piece  of  scarlet  flannel. 
For  his  Aunt  Jobiska  said,  "  No  harm 
Can  came  to  his  toes  if  his  nose  is  warm ; 
And  it's  perfectly  known  that  a  Bobbie's  toes 
Are  safe — provided  he  minds  his  nose." 

The  Pobble  swam  fast  and  well. 

And  when  boats  or  ships  came  near  him, 
He  tinkledy-binkledy-winkled  a  bell 

So  that  all  the  world  could  hear  him. 
And  all  the  Sailors  and  Admirals  cried, 
When  they  saw  him  nearing  the  farther  side, 
"  He  has  gone  to  fish  for  his  Aunt  Jobiska's 
Runcible  Cat  with  crimson  whiskers!" 

But  before  he  touched  the  shore — 

The  shore  of  the  Bristol  Channel, 
A  sea-green  Porpoise  carried  away 

His  wrapper  of  scarlet  flannel. 


866  Nonsense 

And  when  he  came  to  observe  his  feet, 
Formerly  garnished  with  toes  so  neat, 
His  face  at  once  became  forlorn 
On  perceiving  that  all  his  toes  were  gone ! 

And  nobody  ever  knew. 

From  that  dark  day  to  the  present. 
Whoso  had  taken  the  Pobble's  toes, 

In  a  manner  so  far  from  pleasant. 
Whether  the  shrimps  or  crawfish  gray, 
Or  crafty  mermaids  stole  them  away, 
Nobody  knew;  and  nobody  knows 
How  the  Pobble  was  robbed  of  his  twice  five  toes! 

The  Pobble  who  has  no  toes 

Was  placed  in  a  friendly  Bark, 
And  they  rowed  him  back  and  carried  him  up 

To  his  Aunt  Jobiska's  Park. 
And  she  made  him  a  feast  at  his  earnest  wish. 
Of  eggs  and  buttercups  fried  with  fi§h; 
And  she  said,  "  It's  a  fact  the  whole  world  knows. 
That  Pobbles  are  happier  without  their  toes." 

Edward  Lear. 


THE  NEW  VESTMENTS 

There  lived  an  old  man  in  the  kingdom  of  Tess, 
Who  invented  a  purely  original  dress; 
And  when  it  was  perfectly  made  and  complete. 
He  opened  the  door  and  walked  into  the  street. 

By  way  of  a  hat  he'd  a  loaf  of  Brown  Bread, 
In  the  middle  of  which  he  inserted  his  head; 
His  Shirt  was  made  up  of  no  end  of  dead  Mice, 
The  warmth  of  whose  skins  was  quite  fluffy  and  nice; 
His  Drawers  were  of  Rabbit-skins,  so  were  his  Shoes, 
His  Stockings  were  skins,  but  it  is  not  known  whose; 
His  Waistcoat  and  Trowsers  were  made  of  Pork  Chops ; 
His  Buttons  were  Jujubes  and  Chocolate  Drops. 


The  New  Vestments  867 

His  Coat  was  all  Pancakes  with  Jam  for  a  border, 

And  a  girdle  of  Biscuits  to  keep  it  in  order. 

And  he  wore  over  all,  as  a  screen  from  bad  weather, 

A  Cloak  of  green  Cabbage  leaves,  stitched  all  together. 

He  had  walked  a  short  way,  when  he  heard  a  great  noise 

Of  all  sorts  of  Beasticles,  Birdlings  and  Boys; 

And  from  every  long  street  and  dark  lane  in  the  town 

Beasts,  Birdies  and  Boys  in  a  tumult  rushed  down. 

Two  Cows  and  a  Calf  ate  his  Cabbage  leaf  Cloak; 

Four  Apes  seized  his  girdle  which  vanished  like  smoke; 

Three  Kids  ate  up  half  of  his  Pancaky  Coat, 

And  the  tails  were  devoured  by  an  ancient  He  Goat. 

An  army  of  Dogs  in  a  twinkling  tore  up  his 

Pork  Waistcoat  and  Trowsers  to  give  to  their  Puppies; 

And  while  they  were  growling  and  mumbling  the  Chops 

Ten  Boys  prigged  the  Jujubes  and  Chocolate  Drops. 

He  tried  to  run  back  to  his  house,  but  in  vain, 

For  scores  of  fat  Pigs  came  again  and  again; 

They  rushed  out  of  stables  and  hovels  and  doors, 

They  tore  off  his  Stockings,  his  Shoes  and  his  Drawers. 

And  now  from  the  housetops  with  screechings  descend 

Striped,  spotted,  white,  black  and  grey  Cats  without  end; 

They  jumped  on  his  shoulders  and  knocked  off  his  hat. 

When  Crows,  Ducks  and  Hens  made  a  mincemeat  of  that. 

They  speedily  flew  at  his  sleeves  in  a  trice 

And  utterly  tore  up  his  Shirt  of  dead  Mice; 

They  swallowed  the  last  of  his  Shirt  with  a  squall, — 

Whereon  he  ran  home  with  no  clothes  on  at  all. 

And  he  said  to  himself  as  he  bolted  the  door, 

"  I  will  not  wear  a  similar  dress  any  more, 

Any  more,  any  more,  any  more,  nevermore ! " 

Edward  Lear. 


868  Nonsense 


THE  TWO  OLD  BACHELORS 

Two  old  Bachelors  were  living  in  one  house; 
One  caught  a  Muffin,  the  other  caught  a  Mouse. 
Said  he  who  caught  the  Muffin  to  him  who  caught  the  Mouse, 
"  This  happens  just  in  time,  for  we've  nothing  in  the  house, 
Save  a  tiny  slice  of  lemon  and  a  teaspoonful  of  honey. 
And  what  to  do  for  dinner, — since  we  haven't  any  money? 
And  what  can  we  expect  if  we  haven't  any  dinner 
But  to  lose  our  teeth  and  eyelashes  and  keep  on  growing 
thinner?" 

Said  he  who  caught  the  Mouse  to  him  who  caught  the  Muffin, 
"  We  might  cook   this  little  Mouse  if  we   only  had   some 

Stuffin'! 
If  we  had  but  Sage  and  Onions  we  could  do  extremely  well, 
But  how  to  get  that  Stuffin'  it  is  difficult  to  tell  I  " 

And  then  those  two  old  Bachelors  ran  quickly  to  the  town 
And  asked  for  Sage  and  Onions  as  they  wandered  up  and 

down; 
They  borrowed  two  large  Onions,  but  no  Sage  was  to  be 

found 
In  the  Shops  or  in  the  Market  or  in  all  the  Gardens  round. 

But  some  one  said,  "  A  hill  there  is,  a  little  to  the  north. 
And  to  its  purpledicular  top  a  narrow  way  leads  forth; 
And  there  among  the  rugged  rocks  abides  an  ancient  Sage, — 
An  earnest  Man,  who  reads  all  day  a  most  perplexing  page. 
Climb  up  and  seize  him  by  the  toes, — all  studious  as  he  sits, — 
And  pull  him  down,  and  chop  him  into  endless  little  bits! 
Then  mix  him  with  your  Onion  (cut  up  likewise  into  scraps), 
And  your  Stuffin'  will  be  ready,  and  very  good — perhaps." 

And  then  those  two  old  Bachelors,  without  loss  of  time. 
The  nearly  purpledicular  crags  at  once  began  to  climb ; 
And  at  the  top  among  the  rocks,  all  seated  in  a  nook. 
They  saw  that  Sage  a-reading  of  a  most  enormous  book. 


Jabberwocky  869 

"  You  earnest  Sage ! "  aloud  they  cried,  "  your  book  you've 

read  enough  in ! 
We  wish  to  chop  you  into  bits  and  mix  you  into  Stuffin' ! " 

But  that  old  Sage  looked  calmly  up,  and  with  his  awful  book 
At  those  two  Bachelors'  bald  heads  a  certain  aim  he  took; 
And  over  crag  and  precipice  they  rolled  promiscuous  down, — 
At  once  they  rolled,  and  never  stopped  in  lane  or  field  or 

town; 
And  when  they  reached  their  house,  they  found  (besides  their 

want  of  Stuffin') 
The  Mouse  had  fled — and  previously  had  eaten  iip  the  Muffin. 

They  left  their  home  in  silence  by  the  once  convivial  door; 
And  from  that  hour  those  Bachelors   were  never  heard  of 
more. 

Edward  Lear. 


JABBERWOCKY 

'TwAS  brillig,  and  the  slithy  toves 
Did  gyre  and  gimble  in  the  wabe; 

All  mimsy  were  the  borogoves, 
And  the  mome  raths  outgrabe. 

"  Beware  the  Jabberwock,  my  son ! 

The  jaws  that  bite,  the  claws  that  catch! 
Beware  the  Jubjub  bird,  and  shun 

The  f rumious  Bandersnatch !  " 

He  took  his  vorpal  sword  in  hand: 
Long  time  the  manxome  foe  he  sought. 

So  rested  he  by  the  Tumtum  tree, 
And  stood  awhile  in  thought. 

And  as  in  uffish  thought  he  stood. 
The  Jabberwock  with  eyes  of  flame, 

Came  whiffling  through  the  tulgey  wood. 
And  burbled  as  it  camel 


870  Nonsense 

One,  two!.   One,  two!    And  through,  and  through 
The  vorpal  blade  went  snicker-snack! 

He  left  it  dead,  and  with  its  head 
He  went  galumphing  back. 

"  And  hast  thou  slain  the  Jabberwock  ? 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  beamish  boy ! 
Oh,  frabjous  day!     Callooh!  callay!" 

He  chortled  in  his  joy. 

'Twas  brillig,  and  the  slithy  toves 

Did  gyre  and  gimble  in  the  wabe; 
All  mimsy  were  the  borogoves 

And  the  mome  raths  outgrabe. 

Lewis  Carroll. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS 

Fll  tell  thee  everything  I  can; 

There's  little  to  relate. 
I  saw  an  aged  aged  man, 

A-sitting  on  a  gate. 
"  Who  are  you,  aged  man  ?  "  I  said, 

"  And  how  is  it  you  live?" 
His  answer  trickled  through  my  head 

Like  water  through  a  sieve. 

He  said,  *'  I  look  for  butterflies 

That  sleep  among  the  wheat: 
I  make  them  into  mutton-pies. 

And  sell  them  in  the  street. 
I  sell  them  unto  men,"  he  said, 

"Who  sail  on  stormy  seas; 
And  that's  the  way  I  get  my  bread — 

A  trifle,  if  you  please." 

But  I  was  thinking  of  a  plan 
To  dye  one's  whiskers  green. 

And  always  use  so  large  a  fan 
That  they  could  not  be  seen. 


y 


Ways  and  Means  871 

So,  having  no  reply  to  give 

To  what  the  old  man  said, 
I  cried,  "  Come,  tell  me  how  you  live ! " 

And  thumped  him  on  the  head. 

His  accents  mild  took  up  the  tale; 

He  said,  '*  I  go  my  ways 
And  when  I  find  a  mountain-rill 

I  set  it  in  a  blaze; 
And  thence  they  make  a  stuff  they  call 

Rowland's  Macassar  Oil — 
Yet  twopence-halfpenny  is  all 

They  give  me  for  my  toil." 

But  I  was  thinking  of  a  way 

To  feed  oneself  on  batter. 
And  so  go  on  from  day  to  day 

Getting  a  little  fatter. 
I  shook  him  well  from  side  to  side, 

Until  his  face  was  blue; 
"  Come,  tell  me  how  you  live,"  I  cried, 

"  And  what  it  is  you  do !  " 

He  said,  "  I  hunt  for  haddock's  eyes 

Among  the  heather  bright. 
And  work  them  into  waistcoat-buttons 

In  the  silent  night. 
And  these  I  do  not  sell  for  gold 

Or  coin  of  silvery  shine. 
But  for  a  copper  halfpenny 

And  that  will  purchase  nine. 

"I  sometimes  dig  for  buttered  rolls. 

Or  set  limed  twigs  for  crabs; 
I  sometimes  search  the  grassy  knolls 

For  wheels  of  Hansom  cabs. 
And  that's  the  way  "  (he  gave  a  wink) 

"  By  which  I  get  my  wealth — 
And  very  gladly  will  I  drink 

Your  Honor's  noble  health." 


372  Nonsense 

I  heard  him  then,  for  I  had  just 

Completed  my  design 
To  keep  the  Menai  Bridge  from  rust 

By  boiling  it  in  wine. 
I  thanked  him  much  for  telling  me 

The  way  he  got  his  wealth, 
But  chiefly  for  his  wish  that  he 

Might  drink  my  noble  health. 

And  now  if  e'er  by  chance  I  put 

My  fingers  into  glue, 
Or  madly  squeeze  a  right-hand  foot 

Into  a  left-hand  shoe. 
Or  if  I  drop  upon  my  toe 

A  very  heavy  weight, 
I  weep,  for  it  reminds  me  so 
Of  that  old  man  I  used  to  know — 
Whose  look  was  mild,  whose  speech  was  slow, 
Whose  hair  was  whiter  than  the  snow. 
Whose  face  was  very  like  a  crow, 
With  eyes,  like  cinders,  all  aglow. 
Who  seemed  distracted  with  his  woe, 
Who  rocked  his  body  to  and  fro, 
And  muttered  mumblingly,  and  low. 
As  if  his  mouth  were  full  of  dough. 
Who  snorted  like  a  buffalo — 
That  summer  evening,  long  ago, 

A-sitting  on  a  gate. 

Lewis  Carrol!. 


HUMPTY  DUMPTY'S  KECITATION 

"  In  winter,  when  the  fields  are  white, 
I  sing  this  song  for  your  delight 

"  In  spring,  when  woods  are  getting  green, 
FU  try  and  tell  you  what  I  mean : " 

"  In  summer,  when  the  days  are  long. 
Perhaps  you'll  understand  the  song: 


Humpty  Dumpty's  Recitation  873 

In  autumn,  when  the  leaves  are  brown, 
Take  pen  and  ink,  and  write  it  down." 


"  I  sent  a  message  to  the  fish : 
I  told  them  *  This  is  what  I  wish/ 

The  little  fishes  of  the  sea, 
They  sent  an  answer  back  to  me. 

The  little  fishes'  answer  was, 

*  We  cannot  do  it,  Sir,  because 


"  I  sent  to  them  again  to  say 
'  It  will  be  better  to  obey/ 

The  fishes  answered,  with  a  grin,  ^ 

*  Why,  what  a  temper  you  are  in ! ' 

I  told  them  once,  I  told  them  twice: 
They  would  not  listen  to  advice. 

I  took  a  kettle  large  and  new, 
Fit  for  the  deed  I  had  to  do. 

My  heart  went  hop,  my  heart  went  thump : 
I  filled  the  kettle  at  the  pump. 

Then  some  one  came  to  me  and  said, 
'  The  little  fishes  are  in  bed.' 

I  said  to  him,  I  said  it  plain, 

'  Then  you  must  wake  them  up  again.' 

T  said  it  very  loud  and  clear: 
I  went  and  shouted  in  his  ear. 

But  he    was  very  stiff  and  proud: 
He  said,  *  You  needn't  shout  so  loud ! ' 

And  he  was  very  proud  and  stiff : 

He  said,  *  I'd  go  and  wake  them,  if ^ 


874  Nonsense 

I  took  a  corkscrew  from  the  shelf: 
I  went  to  wake  them  up  myself. 

And  when  I  fomid  the  door  was  locked, 

I  pulled  and  pushed  and  kicked  and  knocked. 

And  when  I  found  the  door  was  shut, 

I  tried  to  turn  the  handle,  but " 

Lewis  Carroll. 


SOME  HALLUCINATIONS 

He  thought  he  saw  an  Elephant, 

That  practised  on  a  fife: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  letter  from  his  wife. 
"  At  length  I  realise,"  he  said, 

"  The  bitterness  of  Life!" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Buffalo 

Upon  the  chimney-piece: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

His  Sister's  Husband's  Niece. 
"  Unless  you  leave  this  house,"  he  said, 

"I'll  send  for  the  Police!" 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Rattlesnake 
That  questioned  him  in  Greek: 

He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 
The  Middle  of  Next  Week. 

"  The  one  thing  I  regret,"  he  said, 
"  Is  that  it  cannot  speak!  " 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Banker's  Clerk 

Descending  from  the  'bus: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A   Hippopotamus : 
"  If  this  should  stay  to  dine,"  he  said, 

"  There  won't  be  much  for  us ! " 


Sing  for  the  Garish  Eye  875 

He  thought  he  saw  an  Albatross 

That  fluttered  round  the  lamp: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  Penny-Postage-Stamp. 
"  You'd  best  be  getting  home,"  he  said; 

"  The  nights  are  very  damp !  " 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Coach-and-Four 

That  stood  beside  his  bed : 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  Bear  without  a  Head. 
"  Poor  thing,"  he  said,  "  poor  silly  thing  I 

It's  waiting  to  be  fed !  " 

He  thought  he  saw  a  Kangaroo 

That  worked  a  coffee-mill: 
He  looked  again,  and  found  it  was 

A  Vegetable-Pill. 
"  Were  I  to  swallow  this,"  he  said, 

"I  should  be  very  ill!" 

Lewis  Carroll. 


SING  FOE  THE  GARISH  EYE 

Sing  for  the  garish  eye. 

When  moonless  brandlings  cling! 
Let  the  froddering  crooner  cry. 

And  the  braddled  sapster  sing. 
For  never,  and  never  again, 

Will  the  tottering  beechlings  play, 
For  bratticed  wrackers  are  singing  aloud, 

And  the  throngers  croon  in  May ! 

The  wracking  globe  unstrung, 

Unstrung  in  the  frittering  light 
Of  a  moon  that  knows  no  day. 

Of  a  day  that  knows  no  night! 
Diving  away  in  the  crowd 

Of  sparkling  frets  in  spray, 
The  bratticed  wrackers  are  singing  aloud. 

And  the  throngers  croon  in  May! 


876  Nonsense 

Hasten,  O  hapful  blue, 

Blue,  of  the  shimmering  brow, 
Hasten  the  deed  to  do 

That  shall  roddle  the  welkin  now! 
For  never  again  shall  a  cloud 

Out-thribble  the  babbling  day, 
When  bratticed  wrackers  are  singing  aloud. 

And  the  throngers  croon  in  May! 

W.  S.  Gilbert. 

THE  SHIPWKECK 

Upon  the  poop  the  captain  stands, 

As  starboard  as  may  be; 
And  pipes  on  deck  the  topsail  hands 
To  reef  the  topsail-gallant  strands 

Across  the  briny  sea. 

"  Ho !  splice  the  anchor  under- weigh !  " 

The  captain  loudly  cried; 
"  Ho !  lubbers  brave,  belay !  belay ! 
For  we  must  luff  for  Falmouth  Bay 

Before  to-morrow's  tide." 

The  good  ship  was  a  racing  yawl, 

A  spare-rigged  schooner  sloop, 
Athwart  the  bows  the  taffrails  all 
In  grummets  gay  appeared  to  fall. 

To  deck  the  mainsail  poop. 

But  ere  they  made  the  Foreland  Light, 

And  Deal  was  left  behind, 
The  wind  it  blew  great  gales  that  night. 
And  blew  the  doughty  captain  tight. 

Full  three  sheets  in  the  wind. 

And  right  across  the  tiller  head 

The  horse  it  ran  apace, 
Whereon  a  traveller  hitched  and  sped 
Along  the  jib  and  vanished 

To  heave  the  trysail  brace. 


Uffia  877 


What  ship  could  live  in  such  a  sea? 

What  vessel  bear  the  shock? 
"  Ho !  starboard  port  your  helm-a-lee ! 
Ho!  reef  the  maintop-gallant-tree, 

With  many  a  running  block  1" 


And  right  upon  the  Scilly  Isles 

The  ship  had  run  aground ; 
When  lo!  the  stalwart  Captain  Giles 
Mounts  up  upon  the  gaff  and  smiles, 
And  slews  the  compass  round. 


"Saved!  saved!"  with  joy  the  sailors  cry, 

And  scandalize  the  skiff; 
As  taut  and  hoisted  high  and  dry 
They  see  the  ship  unstoppered  lie 

Upon  the  sea-girt  cliff. 


And  since  that  day  in  Falmouth  Bay, 

As  herring-fishers  trawl. 
The  younkers  hear  the  boatswains  say 
How  Captain  Giles  that  awful  day 

Preserved  the  sinking  yawl. 

E.  H.  Palmer. 


UFFIA 

When  sporgles  spanned  the  floreate  mead 
And  cogwogs  gleet  upon  the  lea, 

Uffia  gopped  to  meet  her  love 

Who  smeeged  upon  the  equat  sea. 


Dately  she  walked  aglost  the  sand ; 

The  boreal  wind  sect  in  her  face; 
The  moggling  waves  yalped  at  her  feet; 

Pangwangling  was  her  pace. 

Harriet  R.  White, 


878  Nonsense 


'TIS  SWEET  TO  ROAM 

'Tis  sweet  to  roam  when  morning's  light 

Resounds  across  the  deep; 
And  the  crystal  song  of  the  woodbine  bright 

Hushes  the  rocks  to  sleep, 
And  the  blood-red  moon  in  the  blaze  of  noon 

Is  bathed  in  a  crumbling  dew, 
And  the  wolf  rings  out  with  a  glittering  shout, 

To-whit,  to-whit,  to-whoo! 

Unknown. 


THREE  JOVIAL  HUNTSMEN 

There  were  three  jovial  huntsmen, 

As  I  have  heard  them  say. 
And  they  would  go  a-hunting 

All  on  a  summer's  day. 

All  the  day  they  hunted, 

And  nothing  could  they  find 
But  a  ship  a-sailing, 

A-sailing  with  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  a  ship, 

The  other  said  Nay; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  house 

With  the  chimney  blown  away. 

And  all  the  night  they  hunted, 

And  nothing  could  they  find; 
But  the  moon  a-gliding, 

A-gliding  with  the  wind. 

One  said  it  was  the  moon, 

The  other  said  Nay; 
The  third  said  it  was  a  cheese, 

And  half  o't  cut  away. 

Unkno2vn. 


The  Ocean  Wanderer  879 


KING  AKTHUK 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  the  land, 

He  was  a  goodly  king: 
He  stole  three  pecks  of  barley  meal, 

To  make  a  bag-pudding. 

A  bag-pudding  the  king  did  make, 

And  stuffed  it  well  with  plums; 
And  in  it  put  great  lumps  of  fat. 

As  big  as  my  two  thumbs. 

The  king  and  queen  did  eat  thereof, 

And  noblemen  beside; 
And  what  they  could  not  eat  that  night, 

The  queen  next  morning  fried. 

Unknown. 


HYDER  IDDLE 

Hyder  iddle  diddle  dell, 

A  yard  of  puddiHg  is  not  an  ell; 

Not  forgetting  tweedle-dye, 

A  tailor's  goose  will  never  fly. 

Unknown. 


THE  OCEAN  WANDERER 

Bright  breaks  the  warrior  o'er  the  ocean  wave 

Through  realms  that  rove  not,  clouds  that  cannot  save, 

Sinks  in  the  sunshine;  dazzles  o'er  the  tomb 

And  mocks  the  mutiny  of  Memory's  gloom. 

Oh!  who  can  feel  the  crimson  ecstasy 

That  soothes  with  bickering  jar  the  Glorious  Tree? 

O'er  the  high  rock  the  foam  of  gladness  throws, 

While  star-beams  lull  Vesuvius  to  repose: 

Girds  the  white  spray,  and  in  the  blue  lagoon, 

Weeps  like  a  walrus  o'er  the  waning  moon? 


880  Nonsense 

Who  can  declare? — not  thou,  pervading  boy 
Whom  pibrochs  pierce  not,  crystals  cannot  cloy; — 
Not  thou  soft  Architect  of  silvery  gleams, 
Whose  soul  would  simmer  in  Hesperian  streams, 
Th'  exhaustless  fire — the  bosom's  azure  bliss, 
That  hurtles,  life-like,  o'er  a  scene  like  this; — 
Defies  the  distant  agony  of  Day — 
And  sweeps  o'er  hecatombs — away!  away! 
Say  shall  Destruction's  lava  load  the  gale. 
The  furnace  quiver  and  the  mountain  quail? 
Say  shall  the  son  of  Sympathy  pretend 
His  cedar  fragrance  with  our  Chief's  to  blend? 
There,  where  the  gnarled  monuments  of  sand 
Howl  their  dark  whirlwinds  to  the  levin  brand; 
Conclusive  tenderness;  fraternal  grog, 
Tidy  conjunction;  adamantine  bog, 
Impetuous  arrant  toadstool ;  Thundering  quince, 
Repentant  dog-star,  inessential  Prince, 
Expound.    Pre-Adamite  eventful  gun, 
Crush  retribution,  currant-jelly,  pun, 
Oh!  eligible  Darkness,  fender,  sting, 
Heav'n-born  Insanity,  courageous  thing. 
Intending,  bending,  scouring,  piercing  all, 
Death  like  pomatum,  tea,  and  crabs  must  fall. 

Unknown. 


SCIENTIFIC  PROOF 

If  we  square  a  lump  of  pemmican 

And  cube  a  pot  of  tea, 
Divide  a  musk  ox  by  the  span 

From  noon  to  half -past  three; 
If  we  calculate  the  Eskimo 

By  solar  parallax. 
Divide  the  sextant  by  a  floe 

And  multiply  the  cracks 
By  nth-powered  igloos,  we  may  prove 

All  correlated  facts. 


Scientific  Proof  881 

If  we  prolongate  the  parallel 

Indefinitely  forth. 
And  cube  a  sledge  till  we  can  tell 

The  real  square  root  of  North; 
Bisect  a  seal  and  bifurcate 

The  tangent  with  a  pack 
Of  Polar  ice,  we  get  the  rate 

Along  the  Polar  track, 
And  proof  of  corollary  things 

Which  otherwise  we  lack. 

If  we  multiply  the  Arctic  night 

By  X  times  ox  times  moose, 
And  build  an  igloo  on  the  site 

Of  its  hypotenuse; 
If  we  circumscribe  an  arc  about 

An  Arctic  dog  and  weigh 
A  segment  of  it,  every  doubt 

Is  made  as  clear  as  day. 
We  also  get  the  price  of  ice 

F.  O.  B.  Baffin's  Bay. 

If  we  amplify  the  Arctic  breeze 

By  logarithmic  signs, 
And  run  through  the  isosceles 

Imaginary  lines. 
We  find  that  twice  the  half  of  one 

Is  equal  to  the  whole. 
Which,  when  the  calculus  is  done, 

Quite  demonstrates  the  Pole. 
It  also  gives  its  length  and  breadth 

And  what's  the  price  of  coal. 

/.  W.  Foley. 


882  Nonsense 

THE  THINGUMBOB 

A  PASTEL 

The  Thingumbob  sat  at  eventide, 
On  the  shore  of  a  shoreless  sea, 

Expecting  an  unexpected  attack 

Erom  something  it  could  not  foresee. 

A  still  calm  rests  on  the  angry  waves. 
The  low  wind  whistles  a  mournful  tune, 

And  the  Thingumbob  sighs  to  himself,  "  Alas, 
IVe  had  no  supper  now  since  noon." 


Unknown. 


WONDERS  OF  NATURE 

Ah  !  who  has  seen  the  mailed  lobster  risd, 

Clap  her  broad  wings,  and,  soaring,  claim  the  skies? 

When  did  the  owl,  descending  from  her  bower, 

Crop,  *midst  the  fleecy  flocks,  the  tender  flower; 

Or  the  young  heifer  plunge,  with  pliant  limb, 

In  the  salt  wave,  and,  fish-like,  try  to  swim  ? 

The  same  with  plants,  potatoes  Hatoes  breed. 

The  costly  cabbage  springs  from  cabbage-seed; 

Lettuce  to  lettuce,  leeks  to  leeks  succeed; 

Nor  e'er  did  cooling  cucumbers  presume 

To  flower  like  myrtle,  or  like  violets  bloom. 

The  Anti-Jacobin. 


LINES  BY  AN  OLD  FOGY 

I'm  thankful  that  the  sun  and  moon 

Are  both  hung  up  so  high, 
That  no  presumptuous  hand  can  stretch 

And  pull  them  from  the  sky. 


A  Country  Summer  Pastoral  8S8 

If  they  were  not,  I  have  no  doubt 

But  some  reforming  ass 
Would  recommend  to  take  them  down 

And  light  the  world  with  gas. 

Unknown, 


A  COUNTEY  SUMMER  PASTORAL 

As  written  by  a  learned  scholar  of  the  city  from  knowledge 
derived  from  etymological  deductions  rather  than  from 
actual  experience. 

I  WOULD  flee  from  the  city's  rule  and  law, 

From  its  fashion  and  form  cut  loose, 
And  go  where  the  strawberry  grows  on  its  straw. 

And  the  gooseberry  on  its  goose; 
Where  the  catnip  tree  is  climbed  by  the  cat 

As  she  crouches  for  her  prey — 
The  guileless  and  unsuspecting  rat 

On  the  rattan  bush  at  play. 

I  will  watch  at  ease  for  the  saffron  cow 

And  the  cowlet  in  their  glee, 
As  they  leap  in  joy  from  bough  to  bough 

On  the  top  of  the  cowslip  tree; 
Where  the  musical  partridge  drums  on  his  drum, 
And  the  dog  devours  the  dogwood  plum 

And  the  wood  chuck  chucks  his  wood, 

In  the  primitive  solitude. 

And  then  to  the  whitewashed  dairy  I'll  turn, 

Where  the  dairymaid  hastening  hies, 
Her  ruddy  and  golden-haired  butter  to  chum 

From  the  milk  of  her  butterflies; 
And  I'll  rise  at  morn  with  the  early  bird, 

To  the  fragrant  farm-yard  pass, 
When  the  farmer  turns  his  beautiful  herd 

Of  grasshoppers  out  to  grass. 

Unknown, 


884  Nonsense 

TURVEt  TOP 

'TwAS  after  a  supper  of  Norfolk  brawn 
That  into  a  doze  I  chanced  to  drop, 

And  thence  awoke  in  the  grey  of  dawn, 
In  the  wonder-land  of  Turvey  Top. 

A  land  so  strange  I  never  had  seen, 

And  could  not  choose  but  look  and  laugh — 

A  land  where  the  small  the  great  includes. 
And  the  whole  is  less  than  the  half! 

A  land  where  the  circles  were  not  lines 
Round  central  points,  as  schoolmen  show, 

And  the  parallels  met  whenever  they  chose, 
And  went  playing  at  touch-and-go! 

There — except  that  every  round  was  square, 
And  save  that  all  the  squares  were  rounds — 

No  surface  had  limits  anywhere, 
So  they  never  could  beat  the  bounds. 

In  their  gardens,  fruit  before  blossom  came, 
And  the  trees  diminished  as  they  grew; 

And  you  never  went  out  to  walk  a  mile, 
It  was  the  mile  that  walked  to  you. 

The  people  there  are  not  tall  or  short. 
Heavy  or  light,  or  stout  or  thin, 

And  their  lives  begin  where  they  should  leave  off. 
Or  leave  off  where  they  should  begin. 

There  childhood,  with  naught  of  childish  glee, 
Looks  on  the   world  with  thoughtful  brow; 

'Tis  only  the  aged  who  laugh  and  crow. 
And  cry  "  We  have  done  with  it  now !  " 

A  singular  race!  what  lives  they  spent! 
Got  up  before  they  went  to  bed! 


Turvey  Top  885 

And  never  a  man  said  what  he  meant, 
Or  a  woman  meant  what  she  said. 

They  blended  colours  that  will  not  blend. 

All  hideous  contrasts  voted  sweet; 
In  yellow  and  red  their  Quakers  dress'd. 

And  considered  it  rather  neat. 

They  didn't  believe  in  the  wise  and  good, 
Said  the  best  were  worst,  the  wisest  fools; 

And  'twas  only  to  have  their  teachers  taught 
That  they  founded  national  schools. 

They  read  in  "books  that  are  no  books," 
Their  classics — chess-boards  neatly  bound; 

Those  their  greatest  authors  who  never  wrote. 
And  their  deepest  the  least  profound. 

Now,  such  were  the  folks  of  that  wonder-land, 

A  curious  people,  as  you  will  own; 
But  are  there  none  of  the  race  abroad, 

Are  no  specimens  elsewhere  known? 

Well,  I  think  that  he  whose  views  of  life 
Are  crooked,  wrong,  perverse,  and  odd. 

Who  looks  upon  all  with  jaundiced  eyes — 
Sees  himself  and  believes   it  God, 

Who  sneers  at  the  good,  and  makes  the  ill. 

Curses  a  world  he  cannot  mend; 
Who  measures  life  by  the  rule  of  wrong 

And  abuses  its  aim  and  end. 

The  man  who  stays  when  he  ought  to  move, 
And  only  goes  when  he  ought  to  stop — 

Is  strangely  like  the  folk  in  my  dream. 
And  would  flourish  in  Turvey  Top. 

William  Sawyer. 


886  Nonsense 


A  BALLAD  OF  BEDLAM 

O  LADY  wake! — the  azure  moon 

Is  rippling  in  the  verdant  skies, 
The  owl  is  warbling  his  soft  tune, 

Awaiting  but  thy  snowy  eyes. 
The  joys  of  future  years  are  past, 

To-morrow's  hopes  have  fled  away; 
Still  let  us  love,  and  e'en  at  last, 

We  shall  be  happy  yesterday. 

The  early  beam  of  rosy  night 

Drives  off  the  ebon  morn  afar. 
While  through  the  murmur  of  the  light 

The  huntsman  winds  his  mad  guitar. 
Then,  lady,  wake!  my  brigantine 

Pants,  neighs,  and  prances  to  be  free; 
Till  the   creation   I   am   thine. 

To  some  rich  desert  fly  with  me. 

Unknown. 


XIV 
NATURAL  HISTORY 

THE  FASTIDIOUS  SERPENT 

There  was  a  snake  that  dwelt  in  Skye, 

Over  the  misty   sea,   oh; 
He  lived  upon  nothing  but  gooseberry  pie 

For  breakfast,  dinner  and  tea,  oh. 

Now  gooseberry  pie — as  is  very  well  known, — 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh. 
Is  not  to  be  found  under  every  stone, 

Nor  yet  upon  every  tree,  oh. 

And  being  so  ill  to  please  with  his  meat. 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh; 
The  snake  had  sometimes  nothing  to  eat. 

And  an  angry  snake  was  he,  oh. 

Then  he'd  flick  his  tongue  and  his  head  he'd  shake. 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh, 
Crying,  "  Gooseberry  pie !    For  goodness'  sake. 

Some  gooseberry  pie  for  me,  oh." 

And  if  gooseberry  pie  was  ^lot  to  be  had, 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh. 
He'd  twine  and  twist  like  an  eel  gone  mad. 

Or  a  worm  just  stung  by  a  bee,  oh. 

But  though  he  might  shout  and  wriggle  about. 

Over  the  misty  sea,  oh. 
The  snake  had  often  to  go  without 

His  breakfast,  dinner  and  tea,   oh, 

Henry  Johnstone. 
887 


888  Natural  History 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  FIRST  CAM-U-EL 

AN   ARABIAN   APOLOGUE 

Across  the  sands  of  Syria, 

Or,  possibly,  Algeria, 
Or  some  benighted  neighbourhood  of  barrenness  and  drouth. 

There  came  the  Prophet  Sam-u-el 

Upon  the  Only  Cam-u-el — 
A  bumpy,  grumpy  Quadruped  of  discontented  mouth. 

The  atmosphere  was  glutinous; 

The  Cam-u-el  was  mutinous; 
He  dumped  the  pack  from  off  his  back;  with  horrid  grunts 
and  squeals 

He  made  the  desert  hideous; 

With  strategy  perfidious 
He  tied  his  neck  in  curlicues,  he  kicked  his  paddy  heels. 

Then  quoth  the  gentle  Sam-u-el, 

"  You  rogue,  I  ought  to  lam  you  well ! 
Though  zealously   I've  shielded  you  from  every  grief  and 
woe. 

It  seems,  to  voice  a  platitude, 

You  haven't  any  gratitude. 
I'd  like  to  hear  what  cause  you  have  for  doing  thus  and  so !  " 

To  him  replied  the  Cam-u-el, 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Sam-u-el. 
I  know  that  I'm  a  Eeprobate,  I  know  that  I'm  a  Freak; 

But,  oh!  this  utter  loneliness! 

My  too-distinguished  Onliness! 
Were  there  but  other  Cam-u-els  I  wouldn't  be  Unique." 

.    The  Prophet  beamed  beguilingly. 
"  Aha,"  he  answered,   smilingly, 

"  You  feel  the  need  of  company?    I  clearly  understand. 
We'll  speedily  create  for  you 
The  corresponding  mate  for  you — 

Ho !  presto,  change-o,  dinglebat !  " — he  waved  a  potent  hand, 


Unsatisfied  Yearning  889 

And,  lo !  from  out  Vacuity 

A  second  Incongruity, 
To  wit,  a  Lady  Cam-u-el  was  born  through  magic  art. 

Her  structure  anatomical, 

Her  form  and  face  were  comical; 
She  was,  in  short,  a  Cam-u-el,  the  other's  counterpart. 

As  Spaniards  gaze  on  Aragon, 

Upon  that  Female  Paragon 
So  gazed  the  Prophet's  Cam-u-el,  that  primal  'Desert  Ship. 

A  connoisseur  meticulous, 

He  found  her  that  ridiculous 
He  grinned  from  ear  to  auricle  until  he  split  his  lip! 

Because  of  his  temerity 
That  Cam-u-el's  posterity 
Must  wear  divided  upper  lips  through  all  their  solemn  lives! 
A  prodigy  astonishing 
Reproachfully  admonishing 
Those,  wicked,   heartless   married   men   who   ridicule   their 
wives. 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


UNSATISFIED  YEARNING 

Down  in  the  silent  hallway 

Scampers  the  dog  about, 
And  whines,  and  barks,  and  scratches, 

In  order  to  get  out. 

Once  in  the  glittering  starlight. 

He  straightway  doth  begin 
To  set  up  a  doleful  howling 

In  order  to  get  in. 

R.  K.  Munkittrick. 


890  Natural  History 


KINDLY   ADVICE 

Be  kind  to  the  panther !  for  when  thou  wert  young, 

In  thy  country  far  over  the  sea, 
'Twas  a  panther  ate  up  thy  papa  and  mama, 

And  had  several  inouthfuls  of  thee! 

Be  kind  to  the  badger!  for  who  shall  decide 

The  depth  of  his  badgery  soul? 
And  think  of  the  tapir,  when  flashes  the  lamp 

O'er  the  fast  and  the  free  flowing  bowl. 

Be  kind  to  the  camel!  nor  let  word  of  thine 

Ever  put  up  his  bactrian  back; 
And  cherish  the  she-kangaroo  with  her  bag, 

Nor  venture  to   give  her  the  sack. 

Be  kind  to  the  ostrich!  for  how  canst  thou  hope 

To  have  such  a  stomach  as  it? 
And  when  the  proud  day  of  your  "  bridal "  shall  come, 

Do  give  the  poor  birdie  a  "bit." 

Be  kind  to  the  walrus!  nor  ever  forget 

To  have  it  on  Tuesday  to  tea; 
But  butter  the  crumpets  on  only  one  side. 

Save  such  as  are  eaten  by  thee. 

Be  kind  to  the  bison!  and  let  the  jackal 
In  the  light  of  thy  love  have  a  share; 

And  coax  the  ichneumon   to  grow   a  new  tail. 
And  have  lots  of  larks  in  its  lair! 

Be  kind  to  the  bustard,  that  genial  bird, 

And  humour  its  wishes  and  ways; 
And  when  the  poor  elephant  suffers  from  bile. 

Then  tenderly  lace  up  his  stays! 

Unknown. 


To  Be  or  Not  To  Be  891 


KINDNESS  TO  ANIMALS 

Speak  gently  to  the  herring  and  kindly  to  the  calf, 

Be  blithesome  with  the  bunny,  at  barnacles  don't  laugh! 

Give  nuts  unto  the  monkey,  and  buns  unto  the  bear. 

Ne'er  hint  at  currant  jelly  if  you  chance  to  see  a  hare ! 

Oh,  little  girls,  pray  hide  your  combs  when  tortoises  draw 

nigh. 
And  never  in  the  hearing  of  a  pigeon  whisper  Pie! 
But  give  the  stranded  jelly-fish  a  shove  into  the  sea, — 
Be  always  kind  to  animals  wherever  you  may  be! 

Oh,  make  not  game  of  sparrows,  nor  faces  at  the  ram. 

And  ne'er  allude  to  mint  sauce  when  calling  on  a  lamb. 

Don't  beard  the  thoughtful  oyster,  don't  dare  the  cod  to 
crimp, 

Don't  cheat  the  pike,  or  ever  try  to  pot  the  playful  shrimp. 

Tread  lightly  on  the  turning  worm,  don't  bruise  the  butter- 
fly, _ 

D«n't  ridicule  the  wry-neck,  nor  sneer  at  salmon-fry; 

Oh,  ne'er  delight  to  make  dogs  fight,  nor  bantams  disagree, — 

Be  always  kind  to  animals  wherever  you  may  be! 

Be  lenient  with  lobsters,  and  ever  kind  to  crabs, 
And  be  not  disrespectful  to  cuttle-fish  or  dabs; 
Chase  not  the  Cochin-China,  chaff -not  the  ox  obese, 
And  babble  not  of  feather-beds  in  company  with  geese. 
Be  tender  with  the  tadpole,  and  let  the  limpet  thrive, 
Be  merciful  to  mussels,  don't  skin  your  eels  alive; 
When  talking  to  a  turtle  don't  mention  calipee — 
Be  always  kind  to  animals  wherever  you  may  be. 

/.  Ashby-Sterry, 


TO  BE  OK  NOT  TO  BE 

I 
I  SOMETIMES  think  I'd  rather  crow 
And  be  a  rooster  than  to  roost 
And  be  a  crow.     But  I  dunno. 


892  Natural  History 

n 

A  rooster  he  can  roost  also, 

Which  don't  seem  fair  when  crows  can't  crow. 

Which  may  help  some.     Still  I  dunno. 


m 
Crows  should  be  glad  of  one  thing,  though; 
Nobody  thinks  of  eating  crow, 
While  roosters  they  are  good  enough 
For  anyone  unless   they're  tough. 


IV 

There  are  lots  of  tough  old  roosters,  though. 
And  anyway  a  crow  can't  crow. 
So  mebby  roosters  stand  more  show. 
It  looks  that  way.     But  I  dunno. 


Unknown. 


THE  HEN 

Was  once  a  hen  of  wit  not  small 

(In  fact,  'twas  not  amazing), 
And  apt  at  laying  eggs  withal. 
Who,  when  she'd  done,  would  scream  and  bawl, 

As  if  the  house  were  blazing. 
A  turkey-cock,  of  age  mature, 

Felt  thereat  indignation; 
'Twas  quite  improper,  he  was  sure — 
He  would  no  more  the  thing  endure; 

So,  after  cogitation. 
He  to  the  lady  straight  repaired. 
And  thus  his  business  he  declared: 

"  Madam,  pray,  what's  the  matter, 
That  always,  when  you've  laid  an  egg, 

You  make  so  great  a  clatter? 
I  wish  you'd  do  the  thing  in  quiet. 
Do  be  advised  by  me,  and  try  it." 


Of  Baiting  the  Lion  893 

"  Advised  by  you !  "  the  lady  cried,  -^ 

And  tossed  her  head  with  proper  pride; 

"  And  what  do  you  know,  now  I  pray, 

Of  the  fashion  of  the  present  day, 

You  creature  ignorant  and  low? 

However,  if  you  want  to  know. 

This  is  the  reason  why  I  do  it: 

I  lay  my  egg,  and  then  review  it !  " 

Matthew  Claudius. 


OF  BAITING  THE  LION 

Remembering  his  taste  for  blood 
You'd  better  bait  him  with  a  cow; 

Persuade  the  brute  to  chew  the  cud 
Her  tail  suspended  from  a  bough; 

It  thrills  the  lion  through  and  through 
To  hear  the  milky  creature  moo. 

Having  arranged  this  simple  ruse, 
Yourself  you  climb  a  neighboring  tree; 

See  to  it  that  the  spot  you  choose 
Commands  the  coming  tragedy; 

Take  up  a  smallish  Maxim  gun, 
A  search-light,  whisky,  and  a  bun. 

It's  safer,  too,  to  have  your  bike 

Standing  immediately  below, 
In  case  your  piece  should  fail  to  strike, 

Or  deal  an  ineffective  blow; 
The  Lion  moves  with  perfect  grace. 

But  cannot  go  the  scorcher's  pace. 

Keep  open  ear  for  subtle  signs;  * 

Thus,  when  the  cow  profusely  moans. 

That  means  to  say,  the  Lion  dines. 
The  crunching  sound,  of  course,  is  bones; 

Silence  resumes  her  ancient  reign — 
This  shows  the  cow  is  out  of  pain. 


894.  Natural  History 

"^  But  when  a  fat  and  torpid  hum 

Escapes  the  eater's  unctuous  nose, 

Turn  up  the  light  and  let  it  come 
Full   on    his   innocent   repose; 

Then  pour  your  shot  between  his  eyes. 
And  go  on  pouring  till  he  dies. 

Play,  even  so,  discretion's  part; 

Descend  with  stealth;  bring  on  your  gun; 
Then  lay  your  hand  above  his  heart 

To  see  if  he  is  really  done; 
Don't  skin  him  till  you  know  he's  dead 

Or  you  may  perish  in  his  stead! 


Years  hence,  at  home,  when  talk  is  tall, 
You'll  set  the  gun-room  wide  agape, 

Describing  how  with  just  a  small 
Pea-rifle,  going  after  ape 

You  met  a  Lion  unaware, 

And  felled  him  flying  through  the  air. 

Owen  Seaman. 

THE  FLAMINGO 

Inspired  by  reading  a  chorus  of  spirits  in  a  German  play 

FIRST   VOICE 

Oh!  tell  me  have  you  ever  seen  a  red,  long-leg'd  Flamingo? 
Oh!  tell  me  have  you  ever  yet  seen  him  the  water  in  go? 

SECOND  VOICE 

Oh !  yes  at  Bowling-Green  I've  seen  a  red  long-leg'd  Flamingo, 
Oh!  yes   at  Bowling-Green.  I've  there  seen  him  the  water 
in   go. 

FIRST   VOICE 

Oh !  tell  me  did  you  ever  see  a  bird  so  funny  stand-o 
When   forth  he   from  the  water  comes   and  gets  upon   the 
land-o  % 


Why  Doth  a  Pussy  Cat?  895 

SECOND  VOICE 

No!  in  my  life  I  ne'er  did  see  a  bird  so  funny  stand-o 
When  forth  he  from  the  water  comes   and  gets  upon  the 
land-o. 

FIRST  VOICE 

He  has  a  leg  some  three  feet  long,  or  near  it,  so  they  say, 

Sir. 
Stiff  upon  one  alone  he  stands,  t'other  he  stows  away,  Sir. 

SECOND  VOICE 

And   what   an   ugly   head   he's   got!      I    wonder   that   he^d 

wear  it. 
But   rather   more   I   wonder   that  his  long,   thin   neck  can 

bear  it. 

FIRST   VOICE 

And  think,   this  length   of  neck   and  legs    (no   doubt   they 

have  their  uses) 
Are  members  of  a  little  frame,  much  smaller  than  a  goose's ! 


BOTH 

Oh!  isn't  he  a  curious  bird,  that  red,  long-leg'd  Flamingo? 
A  water  bird,  a  gawky  bird,  a  sing'lar  bird,  by  jingo! 

Lewis  Gaylord  Clark. 


WHY  DOTH  A  PUSSY  CAT? 

Why  doth  a  pussy  cat  prefer. 
When  dozing,  drowsy,  on  the  sill. 

To  purr  and  purr  and  purr  and  purr 
Instead  of  merely  keeping  still? 

With  nodding  head  and  folded  paws. 

She  keeps  it  up  without  a  cause. 


896  Natural  History 

Why  doth  she  flaunt  her  lofty  tail 
In  such  a  stiff  right-angled  pose? 

If  lax  and  limp  she  let  it  trail 

'Twould  seem  more  restful,  Goodness  knows! 

When  strolling  'neath  the  chairs  or  bed, 

She  lets  it  bump  above  her  head. 


Why  doth  she  suddenly  refrain 
From  anything  she's  busied  in 

And  start  to  wash,  with  might  and  main, 
Most   any  place  upon   her  skin? 

Why  doth  she  pick  that  special  spot, 

Not  seeing  if  it's  soiled  or  not? 


Why  doth  she  never  seem  to  care 
To  come  directly  when  you  call, 

But  makes  approach  from  here  and  there. 
Or  sidles  half  around  the  wall? 

Though  doors  are  opened  at  her  mew, 

You  often  have  to  push  her  through. 


Why  doth  she  this?    Why  doth  she  that? 

I   seek  for  cause — I  yearn  for  clews; 
The  subject  of  the  pussy  cat 

Doth  endlessly  inspire  the  mews. 
Why  doth  a  pussy  cat?     Ah,  me, 
I   haven't  got  the  least  idee. 

Burges  Johnson, 


THE  WALRUS  AND  THE  CARPENTER 

The  sun  was  shining  on  the  sea. 

Shining  with   all  his  might: 
He  did  his  very  best  to  make 

The  billows  smooth  and  bright — 
And  this  was  odd,  because  it  was 

The  middle  of  the  night. 


The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter  897 

The  moon  was  shining  sulkily, 

Because  she  thought  the  sun 
Had  got  no  business  to  be  there 

After   the   day  was  done — 
"It's  very  rude  of  him,"  she  said, 

"  To  come  and  spoil  the  fun ! " 

The  sea  was  wet  as  wet  could  be, 

The  sands  were  dry  as  dry. 
You  could  not  see  a  cloud,  because 

No  cloud  was  in  the  sky: 
No  birds  were  flying  overhead — 

There  were  no  birds  to  fly. 

The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter 

Were  walking  close  at  hand; 
They  wept  like  anything  to  see 

Such  quantities   of  sand: 
"If  this  were  only  cleared  away," 

They   said,   "  it  would  be  grand ! " 

"  If  seven  maids  with  seven  mops 

Swept  it   for   half   a   year, 
Do  you  suppose,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"That  they  could  get  it  clear?" 
"I  doubt  it,"  said  the  Carpenter, 

And  shed  a  bitter  tear. 

"O  Oysters  come  and  walk  with  us!" 

The  Walrus  did  beseech. 
"  A  pleasant  walk,  a  pleasant  talk, 

Along  the  briny  beach: 
We  cannot  do  with  more  than  four. 

To  give  a  hand  to  each." 

The  eldest  Oyster  looked  at  him, 

But  not  a  word  he  said: 
The  eldest  Oyster  winked  his  eye, 

And  shook  his  heavy  head — 
Meaning  to  say  he  did  not  choose 

To  leave  the  oyster-bed. 


898  Natural  History 

But  four  young  Oysters  hurried  up, 

All  eager  for  the  treat: 
Their  coats  were  brushed,  their  faces  washed, 

Their  shoes  were  clean  and  neat — 
•And  this  was  odd,  because,  you  know, 

They  hadn't  any  feet. 

Four  other  Oysters  followed  them, 

And  yet  another  four; 
And  thick  and  fast  they  came  at  last, 

And  more,  and  more,  and  more — 
All  liopping  through  the  frothy  waves, 

And  scrambling  to  the  shore. 

The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter 

Walked   on  a  mile  or  so, 
And  then  they  rested  on  a  rock 

Conveniently  low: 
And  all  the  little  Oysters  stood 

And  waited  in  a  row. 

"The  time  has  come,"  the  Walrus  said, 
/-  "  To  talk  of  many  things : 

Of  shoes — and  ships — and  sealing-wax — 

Of  cabbages — and  kings — 
And  why  the  sea  is  boiling  hot — 
And  whether  pigs  have  wings." 

"But  wait  a  bit,"   the  Oysters  cried, 

"Before  we  have  our  chat; 
For  some  of  us  are  out  of  breath. 

And  all  of  us  are  fat ! " 
"  No  hurry !  "  said  the  Carpenter. 

They  thanked  him  much  for  that. 

"  A  loaf  of  bread,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  Is  what  we  chiefly  need ; 
Pepper  and  vinegar  besides 

Are  very  good  indeed — 
Now,  if  you're  ready.  Oysters  dear. 

We  can  begin  to  feed." 


The  Walrus  and   the  Carpenter  899 

"But  not  on  us,"  the  Oysters  cried, 

Turning  a  little  blue. 
"  After  such  kindness  that  would  be 

A  dismal  thing  to  do ! " 
"  The  night  is  fine,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  Do  you  admire  the  view  ?  " 

"  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come, 

And  you  are  very  nice ! " 
The  Carpenter  said  nothing  but, 

"  Cut  us  another  slice. 
I  wish  you  were  not  quite  so  deaf — 

I've  had  to  ask  you  twice ! " 

"  Ij;  seems  a  shame,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  To  play  them  such  a  trick. 
After  we've  brought  them  out  so  far 

And  made  them  trot  so  quick !  " 
The  Carpenter  said  nothing  but, 

"  The  butter's  spread  too  thick !  " 

"I  weep  for  you,"  the  Walrus  said, 

"  I  deeply  sympathize." 
With  sobs  and  tears  he  sorted  out 

Those  of  the  largest  size. 
Holding  his  pocket-handkerchief 

Before  his  streaming  eyes. 

"  O  Oysters,"  said  the  Carpenter, 

"  You've   had   a  pleasant  run ! 
Shall  we  be  trotting  home  again?" 

But  answer  came  there  none — 
And  this  was  scarcely  odd,  because 

They'd  eaten  every  one. 

Lewis  Carroll. 


900  Natural  History 

NIRVANA 

I  AM 

A  Clam! 
Come  learn  of  me 
Unclouded  peace  and  calm  content, 

Serene,  supreme  tranquillity, 
Where  thoughtless  dreams  and  dreamless  thoughts  are 
blent. 


When  the  salt  tide  is  rising  to  the  flood, 
In  billows  blue  my  placid  pulp  I  lave; 

And  when  it  ebbs  I  slumber  in  the  mud. 
Content  alike  with  ooze  or  crystal  wave. 


I  do  not  shudder  when  in  chowder  stewed, 
Nor  when  the  Coney  Islander  engulfs  me  raw. 

When  in  the  church  soup's  dreary  solitude 
Alone  I  wander,  do  I  shudder?     Naw! 

If  jarring  tempests  beat  upon  my  bed. 

Or  summer  peace  there  be, 
I  do  not  care:  as  I  have  said. 
All's  one  to  me;   - 
A  Clam 
I  am. 


Unknown, 


THE  CATFISH 

The  saddest  fish  that  swims  the  briny  ocean, 

The   Catfish   I   bewail. 
I  cannot  even  think  without  emotion 

Of  his  distressful  tail. 
When  with  my  pencil  once  I  tried  to  draw  one, 

(I  dare  not  show  it  here) 
Mayhap  it  is  because  I  never  saw  one, 

The  picture  looked  so  queer. 


The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  901 

I  vision  him  half  feline  and  half  fishy, 

A  paradox   in   twins, 
Unmixable  as  vitriol  and  vichy — 

A  thing  of  fur  and  fins. 
A  feline  Tantalus,  forever  chasing 

His  fishy  self  to  rend; 
His  finny  self  forever  self-effacing 

In  circles  without  end. 
This  tale  may  have  a  Moral  running  through  it 

As  ^sop  had  in  his; 
If  so,  dear  reader,  you  are  welcome  to  it, 

If  you  know  what  it  is! 

Oliver  Herford, 

WAB  RELIEF 

**  Can  you  spare  a  Threepenny  bit. 
Dear  Miss  Turkey,"  said  Sir  Mouse, 

"For  Job's  Turkey's  benefit? 
I've  engaged  the  Opera  House ! " 

"  Alas !  I've  naught  to  spare !  " 

Said  Miss  Turkey,  "  save  advice, 
I  am  getting  up  a  Fair, 

To  relieve  the  Poor  Church  Mice." 

Oliver  Herford. 


THE  OWL  AND  THE  PUSSY-CAT 

The  Owl  and  the  Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea 

In  a  beautiful  pea-green  boat: 
They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money 

Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note. 
The  Owl  looked  up  to  the  stars  above. 

And  sang  to  a  small  guitar, 
"  Oh,  lovely  Pussy,  oh,  Pussy,  my  love, 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are. 
You  are. 
You  are! 

What  a  beautiful  Pussy  you  are!" 


902  Natural  History 

Pussy  said  to  the  Owl,  "  You  elegant  fowl, 

How  charmingly  sweet  you  sing! 
Oh,  let  us  be  married;  too  long  we  have  tarried: 

But  what  shall  we  do  for  a  ring  ? " 
They  sailed  away  for  a  year  and  a  day, 

To  the  land  where  the  bong-tree  grows; 
And  there  in  the  wood  a  Piggy-wig  stood, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose, 
His  nose, 
His  nose, 

With  a  ring  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  Dear  Pig,  are  you  willing  to  sell  for  one  shilling 

Your  ring?  "    Said  the  Piggy,  "  I  will." 
So  they  took  it  away  and  were  married  next  day 

By  the  Turkey  who  lives  on  the  hill. 
They  dined  on  mince  and  slices  of  quince, 

Which  they  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon ; 
Abd  hand  in  hand,  on  the  edge  of  the  sand,       _ 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
The  moon. 
The  moon, 
They  danced  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Edward  Lear. 


MEXICAN  SEEENADE 

When  the  little  armadillo 
With  his  head  upon  his  pillow 

Sweetly  rests, 
And  the  parrakeet  and  lindo 
Flitting  past  my  cabin  window 

Seek  their  nests, — 

When  the  mists  of  even  settle 
Over  Popocatapetl, 

Dropping  dew, — 
Like  the  condor,  over  yonder. 
Still  I  ponder,  ever  fonder. 

Dear,  of  You  I 


Orphan  Born  903 

May  no  revolution  shock  you, 

May  the  earthquake  gently  rock  you 

To  repose. 
While  the  sentimental  panthers 
Sniff  the  pollen-laden  anthers 

Of  the  rose! 


While  the  pelican  is  pining, 
While  the  moon  is  softly  shining 

On  the  stream. 
May  the  song  that  I  am  singing 
Send  a  tender  cadence  winging 

Through  your  dream! 


I  have  just  one  wish  to  utter — 
That  you  twinkle  through  your  shutter 

Like  a  star, 
While,  according  to  convention, 
I  shall  cas-u-ally  mention 

My  guitar. 


Senorita  Maraquita, 
Muy  bonita,  pobracita! — 

Hear  me  weep! — 
But  the  night  is  growing  wetter. 
So  I  guess  that  you  had  better 

Go  to  sleep. 

Arthur  Guiterman. 


OKPHAN  BORN 

I  AM  a  lone,  unfathered  chick, 

Of   artificial  hatching, 
A  pilgrim  in  a  desert  wild, 
By  happier,  mothered  chicks  reviled, 
From  all  relationships  exiled, 

To  do  my  own  lone  scratching. 


904  Natural  History 

Fair  science  smiled  upon  my  birth 
One  raw  and  gusty  morning; 

But  ah,  the  sounds  of  barnyard  mirth 

To  lonely  me  have  little  worth; 

Alone  am  I  in  all  the  earth — 
An  orphan  without  horning. 


Seek  I  my  mother?    I  would  find 

A  heartless  personator; 
A  thing  brass-feathered,  man-designed, 
With  steam-pipe  arteries  intermined, 
And  pulseless  cotton-batting  lined — 

A  patent  incubator. 


It  wearies  me  to  think,  you  see — 
Death  would  be  better,  rather — 
Should  downy  chicks  be  hatched  of  me, 
By  fate's  most  pitiless  decree, 
My  piping  pullets  still  would  be 
With  never  a  grandfather. 


And  when  to  earth  I  bid  adieu 

To  seek  a  planet  greater, 
I  will  not  do  as  others  do, 
Who  fly  to  join   the  ancestral  crew. 
For  I  will  just  be  gathered  to 

My  incubator. 

Robert  J.  Burdette, 


DIVIDED  DESTINIES 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine. 

And  much  I  wondered  how  he  lived,  and  where  the  beast 

might  dine, 
And  many,  many  other  things,  till,  o'er  my  morning  smoke, 
I  slept  the  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamed  that  Bandar  spoke. 


Divided  Destinies  905 

He  said ;  "  Oh,  man  of  many  clothes !   sad  crawler  on  the 

Hills! 
Observe,  I  know  not  Kanken's  shop,  nor  Ranken's  monthly 

bills! 
I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that  you  call  dress; 
Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little  drinks  at  Mess. 

"  I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon  and  eventide 
(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the  mountainside, 
I  follow  no  man's  carriage,  ard  no,  never  in  my  life 
Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Bandar's  wife.  , 

"Oh,  man  of  futile  fopperies — unnecessary  wraps; 

I  own  no  ponies  in  the  Hills,  I  drive  no  tall-wheeled  traps; 

I  buy  me  not  twelve-button   gloves,   '  short-sixes '   eke,   or 

rings. 
Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on  pretty  things. 

"I  quarrel  with  my  wife  at  home,  we  never  fight  abroad; 
But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her  only  lord. 
I  never  heard  of  fever — dumps  nor  debts  depress  my  soul; 
And  I  pity  and  despise  you !  "    Here  he  pouched  my  break- 
fast-roll. 

His  hide  was  very  mangy  and  his  face  was  very  red, 
And  undisguisedly  he  scratched  with  energy  his  head. 
His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how  my  spirit  cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandar  loose  upon  the  mountainside  I 

So  I  answered :  "  Gentle  Bandar,  an  inscrutable  Decree 
Makes  thee*  a  gleesome,  fleasome  Thou,  and  me  a  wretched 

Me. 
Gol     Depart  in  peace,  my  brother,  to  thy  home  amid  the 

pine; 
Yet  forget  not  once  a  mortal  wished  to  change  his  lot  with 

thine." 

Rudyard  Kipling. 


906  Natural  History 


THE  VIPER 

Yet  another  great  truA  I  record  in  my  verse, 
That  some  Vipers  are  venomous,  some  the  reverse; 

A  fact  you  may  prove  if  you  try. 
By  procuring  two  Vipers  and  letting  them  bite; 
With  the  first  you  are  only  the  worse  for  a  fright, 

But  after  the  second  you  die. 

Hilaire  Belloc. 


THE  LLAMA 

The  Llama  is  a  woolly  sort  of  fleecy,  hairy  goat. 
With  an  indolent  expression  and  an  undulating  throat, 

Like  an  unsuccessful  literary  man. 
And  I  know  the  place  he  lives  in  (or  at  least  I  think  I  do) 
It  is  Ecuador,  Brazil  or  Chile — possibly  Peru; 

You  must  find  it  in  the  Atlas  if  you  can. 


The  Llama  of  the  Pampases  you  never  should  confound 
(In  spite  of  a  deceptive  similarity  of  sound). 

With  the  Lhama  who  is  Lord  of  Turkestan. 
For  the  former  is  a  beautiful  and  valuable  beast, 
But  the  latter  is  not  lovable  nor  useful  in  the  least; 
And  the  Ruminant  is  preferable  surely  to  the  Priest 
Who  battens  on  the  woful  superstitions  of  the  East, 

The  Mongol  of  the  Monastery  of  Shan. 

Hilaire  Belloc. 


THE   YAK 

As  a  friend  to  the  children  commend  me  the  yak. 

You  will  find  it  exactly  the  thing: 
It  will  carry  and   fetch,  you  can  ride  on  its  back. 

Or  lead   it  about  with  a   string. 


The  Microbe  907 

A  Tartar  who  dwells  on  the  plains  of  Thibet 

(A  desolate  region  of  snow) 
Has  for  centuries  made  it  a  nursery  pet, 

And  surely  the  Tartar  should  know! 

Then  tell  your  papa  where  the  Yak  can  be  got, 

And  if  he  is  awfully  rich, 
He  will  buy  you  the  creature — or  else  he  will  not, 

(I  cannot  be  positive  which). 


THE  FROG 

Be  kind  and  tender  to  the  Frog, 

And  do  not  call  him  names, 
As  "  Slimy-Skin,"  or  "  Polly-wog," 

Or  likewise,  "  Uncle  James," 
Or  "  Gape-a-grin,"  or  "  Toad-gone-wrong," 

Or   "Billy-Bandy-knees;" 
The  Frog  is  justl|^  sensitive 

To  epithets  like  these. 

No  animal  will  more  repay 

A  treatment  kind  and  fair, 
At  least,   so  lonely  people  say 
Who  keep  a  frog  (and,  by  the  way, 

They  are  extremely  rare). 

Hilaire  Belloc. 


THE  MICROBE 

The  Microbe  is  so  very  small 
You  cannot  make  him  out  at  all, 
But  many  sanguine  people  hope 
To  see  him  through   a  microscope, 
flis  jointed  tongue  that  lies  beneath 
A  hundred  curious   rows  of  teeth; 
His  seven  tufted  tails  with  lots 
Of  lovely  pink  and  purple  spots 


908  Natural  History 

On  each  of  which  a  pattern  stands, 
Composed  of  forty  separate  bands; 
His  eyebrows  of  a  tender  green; 
All  these  have  never  yet  been  seen — 
But   Scientists,  who  ought  to  know, 
Assure  us  that  they  must  be  so.  .  .  , 
Oh!  let  us  never,  never  doubt 
What  nobody  is  sure  about! 

Hilaire  Belloc. 


THE  GREAT  BLACK  CROW 

The  crow — the  crow!   the  great  black  crow! 
He  cares  not  to  meet  us  wherever  we  go; 
He  cares  not  for  man,  beast,  friend,  nor  foe, 
For  nothing  will  eat  him  he  well  doth  know. 

Know — know!   you  great  black  crow! 
It's  a  comfort  to  feel  like  a  great  black  crow! 

The  crow — the  crow!  the  great  hlack  crow! 
He  loves  the  fat  meadow — his  taste  is  low; 
He  loves  the  fat  worms,  and  he  dines  in  a  row 
With  fifty  fine  cousins  all  black  as  a  sloe. 

Sloe — sloe!  you  great  black  crow! 
But  it's  jolly  to  fare  like  a  great  black  crow! 

The  crow — the  crow!  the  great  black  crow! 
He  never  gets  drunk  on  the  rain  or  snow; 
He  never  gets  drunk,  but  he  never  says  no! 
If  you  press  him  to  tipple  ever  so. 

So— so!  you  great  black  crow! 
It's  an  honour  to  soak  like  a  great  black  crow! 

The  crow — the  crow!  the  great  black  crow! 
He  lives  for  a  hundred  year  and  mo'; 
He  lives  till  he  dies,  and  he  dies  as  slow 
As  the  morning  mists  down  the  hill  that  go. 

Go — go!   you  great  black   crow! 
But  it's  fine  to  live  and  die  like  a  great  black  crow! 

Philip  James  Bailey. 


The  Colubriad  909 


THE  COLUBRIAD 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nailed  fast, 

Three  kittens  sat;  each  kitten  looked  aghast. 

I,  passing  swift  and  inattentive  by, 

At  the  three  kittens  cast  a  careless  eye; 

Not  much  concerned  to  know  what  they  did  there; 

Not  deeming  kittens  worth  a  poet's  care. 

But  presently,  a  loud  and  furious  hiss 

Caused  me  to  stop,  and  to  exclaim,  "  What's  this 

When  lo!  upon  the  threshold  met  my  view, 

With  head  erect,  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue, 

A  viper  long  as  Count  de  Grasse's  queue. 

Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws, 

Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose; 

Who,  having  never  seen,  in  field  or  house, 

The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse; 

Only  projecting,  with  attention  due, 

Her  whiskered  face,  she  asked  him,  "Who  are  you?** 

On  to  the  hall  went  I,  with  pace  not  slow, 

But  swift  as  lightning,  for  a  long  Dutch  hoe: 

With  which  well  armed,  I  hastened  to  the  spot 

To  find  the  viper — but  I  found  him  not. 

And,  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs  around. 

Found  only  that  he  was  not  to  be  found; 

But  still  the  kittens,  sitting  as  before. 

Sat  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the  door. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I,  "  the  villain  T  would  kill 

Has  slipped  between  the  door  and  the  door-sill; 

And  if  I  make  despatch,  and  follow  hard. 

No  doubt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  the  yard : " 

(For  long  ere  now  it  should  have  been  rehearsed, 

'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  found  him  first.) 

E'en  there  I  found  him :  there  the  full-grown  cat 

His  head,  with  velvet  paw,  did  gently  pat; 

As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 

To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean. 

Filled  with  heroic  ardour  at  the  sight. 

And  fearing  every  moment  he  would  bite, 


910  Natural  History 

And  rob  our  household  of  our  only  cat 
That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat; 
With  outstretched  hoe  I  slew  him   at  the  door, 
And  taught  him  never  to  come  there  no  more! 

IVilliam  Cowper. 


THE  EETIRED   CAT 

A  Poet's  Cat,  sedate  and  grave 
As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 
Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 
For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire, 
And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink. 
She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 
I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick; 
Nature. perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
In  such  a  mold  piiilosophique. 
Or  else  she  learned  it  of  her  master. 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonair. 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork. 
She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work; 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering-pot. 
There  wanting  nothing,  save  a  fan. 
To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan. 
Appareled  in  exactest  sort, 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  place 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we. 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find. 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind. 
And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold   and   comfortless  within: 
She  therefore  wished,  instead  of  those. 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 


The  Retired  Cat  911 

Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  in  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind. 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies'  use; 
A  drawer,  impending  o'er  the  rest. 
Half  open,  in  the  topmost  chest. 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare. 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there; 
Puss  with  delight  beyond  expression. 
Surveyed  the  scene  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease,  ere  long, 
And  lulled  by  her  own  humdrum  song, 
She  left  the   cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last. 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined. 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast. 
By   no   malignity   impelled, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

Awakened  by  the  shock  (cried  puss) 
"Was  ever  cat  attended  thus! 
The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see. 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me. 
For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed, 
Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
How  smooth  those  'kerchiefs,  and  how  sweet 
Oh  what  a  delicate  retreat! 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest 
Till   Sol  declining  in  the  west, 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  come,  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  jdescended. 
And  puss  remained  still  unattended. 
The  night  rolled  tardily  away 
(With  her  indeed  'twas  never  day). 


912  Natural  History 

The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renewed, 
The  evening  gray  again  ensued, 
And  puss  came  into  mind  no  more 
Than  if  entombed  the  day  before ; 
With  hunger  pinched,  and  pinched  for  room, 
She   now   presaged    approaching   doom. 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  nor  purred, 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurred. 

That  night,  by  chance,  the  poet,  watching. 
Heard   an   inexplicable   scratching; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
And  to  himself  he  said— "  What's  that?" 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side, 
And  forth  he  peeped,  but  nothing  spied. 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guessed 
Something  imprisoned  in  the  chest; 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 
Resolved   it   should   continue   there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew. 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears. 
Consoled  him,  and  dispelled  his  fears; 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 
He  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore. 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 
The  next  in  order  to   the  top. 
For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most. 
That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost. 
We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light. 
In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 
Forth  skipped  the  cat,  not  now  replete 
As  erst  with   airy  self-conceit. 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  comprehension, 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's   attention. 
But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 
Her  notions  hyperbolical, 
And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest. 
Any  thing  rather  than  a  chest. 
Then  stepped  the  poet  into  bed 
With  this  reflection  in  his  head; 


A  Darwinian  Ballad  913 

MORAL 

Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence. 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight, 
That  all  around  in  all  that's  done 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone. 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 

William  Cowpef. 


A  DAKWINIAN  BALLAD 

Oh,  many  have  told  of  the  monkeys  of  old. 

What  a  pleasant  race  they  were, 
And  it  seems  most  true  that  I  and  you 

Are  derived  from  an  apish  pair. 
They  all  had  nails,  and  some  had  tails, 

And  some — no  '*  accounts  in  arrear  " ; 
They  climbed  up  the  trees,  and  they  scratched  out  the — these 

Of  course  I  will  not  mention  here. 


They  slept  in  a  wood,  or  wherever  they  could, 

For  they  didn't  know  how  to  make  beds; 
They  hadn't  got  huts;  they  dined  upon  nuts, 

Which  they  cracked  upon  each  other's  heads. 
They  hadn't  much  scope,  for  a  comb,  brush  or  soap. 

Or  towels,  or  kettle  or  fire. 
They  had  no  coats  nor  capes,  for  ne'er  did  these  apes 

Invent  what  they  didn't  require. 


The  sharpest  baboon  never  used  fork  or  spoon, 

Nor  made  any  Voots  for  his  toes, 
Nor  could  any  thief  steal  a  silk  handker-chief, 

For  no  ape  thought  much  of  his  nose ; 


914  Natural  History 

They  had  cold  collations;  they  ate  poor  relations: 

Provided  for  thus,  by-the-bye. 
No  Ou-rang-ou-tang  a  song  ever  sang — 

He  couldn't,  and  so  didn't  try. 

From  these  though  descended  our  manners  are  mended, 

Though  still  we  can  grin  and  backbite! 
We  cut  up  each  other,  be  he  friend  or  brother. 

And  tales  are  the  fashion — at  night. 
This  origination  is  all  speculation — 

We  gamble  in  various  shapes; 
So  Mr.  Darwin  may  speculate  in 

Our  ancestors  having  been  apes. 

Unknown. 


THE  PIG 

A  COLLOQUIAL  POEM 

Jacob!  I  do  not  like  to  see  thy  nose 
Tum'd  up  in  scornful  curve  at  yonder  pig, 
It  would  be  well,  my  friend,  if  we,  like  him. 
Were  perfect  in  our  kind !   .    .  And  why  despise 
The  sow-born  grunter?  .    .  He  is  obstinate, 
Thou  answerest;  ugly,  and  the  filthiest  beast 
That  banquets  upon  offal.  .    .    .  Now  I  pray  you 
Hear  the  pig's  counsel. 

Is  he  obstinate? 
We  must  not,  Jacob,  be  deceived  by  words; 
We  must  not  take  them  as  unheeding  hands 
Receive  base  money  at  the  current  worth 
But  with  a  just  suspicion  try  their  sound, 
And  in  the  even  balance  weight  them  well 
See  now  to  what  this  obstinacy  comes: 
'A  poor,  mistreated,  democratic  beast. 
He  knows  that  his  unmerciful  drivers  seek 
Their  profit,  and  not  his.    He  hath  not  learned 
That  pigs  were  made  for  man,   .    .  born  to  be  brawn'd 
And  baconized :  that  he  must  please  to  give 
Just  what  his  gracious  masters  please  to  take ; 
Perhaps  his  tusks,  the  weapons  Nature  gave 


The  Pig  915 

For  self-defense,  the  general  privilege; 

Perhaps,   .    .  hark,  Jacob !  dost  thou  hear  that  horn  ? 

Woe  to  the  young  posterity  of  Pork ! 

Their  enemy  is  at  hand. 

Again.     Thou  say'st 
The  pig  is  ugly.    Jacob,  look  at  him ! 
Those  eyes  have  taught  the  lover  flattery. 
His  face,  .    .  nay,  Jacob!  Jacob!  were  it  fair 
To  judge  a  lady  in  her  dishabille? 
Fancy  it  dressed,  and  with  saltpeter  rouged. 
Behold  his  tail,  my  friend;  with  curls  like  that 
The  wanton  hop  marries  her  stately  spouse: 
So  crisp  in  beauty  Amoretta's  hair 
Rings  round  her  lover's  soul  the  chains  of  love. 
And  what  is  beauty,  but  the  aptitude 
Of  parts  harmonious?    Give  thy  fancy  scope, 
And  thou  wilt  find  that  no  imagined  change 
Can  beautify  this  beast.    Place  at  his  end 
The  starry  glories  of  the  peacock's  pride. 
Give  him  the  swan's  white  breast ;  for  his  horn-hoofs 
Shape  such  a  foot  and  ankle  as  the  waves 
Crowded  in  eager  rivalry  to  kiss 
When  Venus  from  the  enamor'd  sea  arose;   .    . 
Jacob,  thou  canst  but  make  a  monster  of  him ! 
An  alteration  man  could  think,  would  mar 
His  pig-perfection. 

The  last  qharge,  .  .  he  lives 
A  dirty  life.    Here  I  could  shelter  him 
With  noble  and  right-reverend  precedents. 
And  show  by  sanction  of  authority 
That  'tis  a  very  honorable  thing 
To  thrive  by  dirty  ways.    But  let  me  rest 
On  better  ground  the  unanswerable  defense. 
The  pig  is  a  philosopher,  who  knows 
No  prejudice.    Dirt?  .    .  Jacob,  what  is  dirt? 
If  matter,   .    .  why  the  delicate  dish  that  tempts 
An  o'ergorged  epicure  to  the  last  morsel 
That  stuffs  him  to  the  throat-gates,  is  no  more. 
If  matter  be  not,  but  as  sages  say, 
Spirit  is  all,  and  all  things  visible 
Are  one,  the  infinitely  modified. 


916  Natural  History 

Think,  Jacob,  what  that  pig  is,  and  the  mire 
Wherein  he  stands  knee-deep! 

And  there!  the  breeze 
Pleads  with  me,  and  has  won  thee  to  a  smile 
That  speaks  conviction.    O'er  yon  blossom'd  field 
Of  beans  it  came,  and  thoughts  of  bacon  rise. 

Robert  Southey. 


A  FISH  STOKY 

A  WHALE  of  great  porosity 
And  small  specific  gravity, 

Dived  down  with  much  velocity 
Beneath  the  sea's  concavity. 

But  soon  the  weight  of  water 
Squeezed  in  his  fat  immensity, 

Which  varied — as  it  ought  to^— 
Inversely  as  his  density. 

It  would  have  moved  to  pity 

An  Ogre  or  a  Hessian, 
To  see  poor  Spermaceti 

Thus  suffering  compression. 

The  while  he  lay  a-roaring 

In  agonies  gigantic, 
The  lamp-oil  out  came  pouring, 

And  greased  the  wide  Atlantic. 

(Would  we'd  been  in  the  Navy, 
And  cruising  there !    Imagine  us 

All  in  a  sea  of  gravy. 
With  billow  oleaginous !) 

At  length  old  million -pounder. 

Low  on  a  bed  of  coral, 
Gave  his  last  dying  flounder, 

Whereto  T  pen  this  moral. 


The  Cameronian  Cat  917 

MOEIAL 

O,  let  this  tale  dramatic, 

Anent  the  whale  Norwegian 
And  pressure  hydrostatic, 

Warn  you,  my  young  collegian, 

That  down-compelling  forces 

Increase  as  you  get  deeper; 
The  lower  down  your  course  is, 

The  upward  path's  the  steeper. 

Henry  A.  Be^rs, 


THE  CAMERONIAN  CAT 

There  was  a  Cameronian  cat 

Was  hunting  for  a  prey. 
And  in  the  house  she  catched  a  mouse 

Upon  the  Sabbath-day. 

The  Whig,  being  offended 

At  such  an  act  profane, 
Laid  by  his  book,  the  cat  he  took, 

And  bound  her  in  a  chain. 

"  Thou  damned,  thou  cursed  creature ! 

This  deed  so  dark  with  thee! 
Think'st  thou  to  bring  to  hell  below 

My  holy  wife  and  me? 

"  Assure  thyself  that  for  the  deed 
Thou  blood  for  blood  shalt  pay, 

For  killing  of  the  Lord's  own  mouse 
Upon  the  Sabbath-day." 

The  presbyter  laid  by  the  book, 

And  earnestly  he  prayed 
That  the  great  sin  the  cat  had  done 

Might  not  on  him  be  laid. 


918  Natural  History 

And  straight  to  execution 

Poor  pussy  she  was  drawn, 
And  high  hanged  up  upon  a  tree — 

The  preacher  sung  a  psalm. 

And,  when  the  work  was  ended, 
They  thought  the  cat  near  dead ; 

She  gave  a  paw,  and  then  a  mew, 
And  stretched  out  her  head. 

"  Thy  name,"  said  he,  "  shall  certainly 

A  beacon  still  remain, 
A  terror  unto  evil  ones 

For  evermore.  Amen." 

Unknown. 


THE  YOUNG  GAZELLE 

A   MOORE-ISH   TALE 

In  early  youth,  as  you  may  guess, 

I  revelled  in  poetic  lore, 
And  while  my  schoolmates  studied  less, 

I  resolutely  studied  Moore. 

Those  touching  lines  from  "  Lalla  Rookh,"- 
"  Ah,  ever  thus — "  you  know  them  well, 

Such  root  within  my  bosom  took, 
I  wished  I  had  a  young  Gazelle. 

Oh,  yes!  a  sweet,  a  sweet  Gazelle, 
"  To  charm  me  with  its  soft  black  eye," 

So  soft,  so  liquid,  that  a  spell 
Seems  in  that  gem-like  orb  to  lie. 

Years,  childhood  passed,  youth  fled  away. 
My  vain  desire  I'd  learned  to  quell. 

Till  came  that  most  auspicious  day 
When  some  one  gave  me  a  Gazelle, 


The  Young  Gazelle  919 

With  care,  and  trouble,  and  expense, 

'Twas  brought  from  Afric's  northern  cape; 

It  seemed  of  great  intelligence. 
And  oh !  so  beautiful  a  shape. 

Its  lustrous,  liquid  eye  was  bent 

With  special  lovingness  on  me; 
No  gift  that  mortal  could  present 

More  welcome  to  my  heart  could  be. 

I  brought  him  food  with  fond  caress, 
Built  him  a  hut,  snug,. neat,  and  warm; 

I  called  him  "  Selim,"  to  express 
The  marked  s(e)limness  of  his  form. 

The  little  creature  grew  so  tame, 

lie  "  learned  to  know  (the  neighbors)  well;  " 
And  then  the  ladies,  when  they  came. 

Oh!  how  they  "nursed  that  dear  Gazelle." 

But,  woe  is  me !  on  earthly  ground 

Some  ill  with  every  blessing  dwells; 
And  soon  to  my  dismay  I  found  # 

That  this  applies  to  young  Gazelles. 

When  free  allowed  to  roam  indoors. 

The  mischief  that  he  did  was  great; 
The  walls,  the  furniture,  the  floors. 

He  made  in  a  terrific  state. 

He  nibbled  at  the  table-cloth, 

And  trod  the  carpet  into  holes, 
And  in  his  gambols,  nothing  loth, 

Kicked  over  scuttles  full  of  coals. 


To  view  his  image  in  the  glass, 
He  reared  upon  his  hinder  legs; 

And  thus  one  morn  I  found,  alas ! 

Two  porcelain  vases  smashed  like  eggs. 


920  Natural  History 

Whatever  did  his  fancy  catch 
By  way  of  food,  he  would  not  wait 

To  be  invited,  but  would  snatch 
It  from  one's  table,  hand,  or  plate. 

He  riled  the  dog,  annoyed  the  cat. 
And  scared  the  goldfish  into  fits; 

He  butted  through  my  newest  hat. 
And  tore  my  manuscript  to  bits. 

'Twas  strange,  so  light  his  hooflets  weighed, 
His  limbs  as  slender  as  a  hare's. 

The  noise  my  little  Selim  made 
In  trotting  up  and  dovm  the  stairs. 

To  tie  him  up  T  thought  was  wise. 
But  loss  of  freedom  gave  him  pain; 

I  could  not  stand  those  pleading  eyes. 
And  so  I  let  him  go  again. 

How  sweet  to  see  him  skip  and  prance 
Upon  the  gravel  or  the  lawn ; 
^     More  light  in  stop  than  fairies'  dance. 
More  graceful  than  an  English  fawn. 

But  then  he  spoilt  the  garden  so, 

Trod  down  the  beds,  raked  up  the  seeds, 

And  ate  the  plants — nor  did  he  show 
The  least  compunction  for  his  deeds. 

He  trespassed  on  the  neighbors'  ground, 
And  broke  two  costly  melon  frames. 

With  other  damages — a  pound 
To  pay,  resulted  from  his  games. 


In  short,  the  mischief  was  immense 
That  from  his  gamesome  pranks  befel. 

And,  truly,  in  a  double  sense. 
He  proved  a  very  "  dear  Gazelle." 


The  Ballad  of  the  Emeu  921 

At  length  I  sighed — "  Ah,  ever  thus 
Doth  disappointment  mock  each  hope; 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  make  a  fuss; 
You'll  have  to  go,  my  antelope." 

The  chance  I  wished  for  did  occur; 

A  lady  going  to  the  East 
Was  willing;  so  I  gave  to  her 

That  little  antelopian  beast. 

I  said,  "  This  antler'd  desert  child 

In  Turkish  palaces  may  roam, 
But  he  is  much  too  free  and  wild 

To  keep  in  any  English  home." 

Yes,  tho'  I  gave  him  up  with  tears, 

Experience  had  broke  the  spell, 
And  if  I  live  a  thousand  years, 

I'll  never  have  a  young  Gazelle. 

Walter  Parke. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  THE  EMEU 

O  SAY,  have  you  seen  at  the  Willows  so  green — 

So  charming  and  rurally  true — 
A  Singular  bird,  with  a  manner  absurd. 

Which  they  call  the  Australian  Emeu? 
Have  you? 

Ever  seen  this  Australian  Emeu? 

Tt  trots  all  around  with  its  head  on  the  ground, 
Or  erects  it  quite  out  of  your  view; 

And  the  ladies  all  cry,  when  its  figure  they  spy, 
"  O,  what  a  sweet  pretty  Emeu ! 

Oh!  do 
Just  look  at  that  lovely  Emeu !  " 

One  day  to  this  spot,  when  the  weather  was  hot, 

Came  Matilda  Hortense  Fortescue; 
And  beside  her  there  came  a  youth  of  high  name — 


922  Natural  History 

Augustus  Florell  Montague: 
The  two 
Both  loved  that  wild  foreign  Emeu. 


With  two  loaves  of  bread  then  they  fed  it,  instead 

Of  the  flesh  of  the  white  cockatoo. 
Which  once  was  its  food  in  that  wild  neighbourhood 

Where  ranges  the  sweet  kangaroo 
That,  too, 

Is  game  for  the  famous  Emeu ! 

Old  saws  and  gimlets  but  its  appetite  whet 

Like  the  world  famous  bark  of  Peru ; 
There's  nothing  so  hard  that  the  bird  will  discard, 

And  nothing  its  taste  will  eschew. 
That  you 

Can  give  that  long-legged  Emeu! 

The  time  slipped  away  in  this  innocent  play. 

When  up  jumped  the  bold  Montague: 
"  Where's  that  specimen  pin  that  I  gaily  did  win 

In  raffle,  and  gave  unto  you, 

Fortescue?" 

No  word  spoke  the  guilty  Emeu! 

"  Quick !  tell  me  his  name  whom  thou  gavest  that  same. 
Ere  these  hands  in  thy  blood  I  imbrue !  " 

"  Nay,  dearest,"  she  cried  as  she  clung  to  his  side, 
"  I'm  innocent  as  that  Emeu !  " 

"Adieu!" 
He  replied,  "  Miss  M.  H.  Fortescue !  " 

Down  she  dropped  at  his  feet,  all  as  white  as  a  sheet, 

As  wildly  he  fled  from  her  view; 
He  thought  'twas  her  sin — for  he  knew  not  the  pin 
Had  been  gobbled  up  by  the  Emeu; 

All  through 
"  I'm  innocent  as  that  Emeu !  " 

Bret  Harte. 


The  Turtle  and  the  Flamingo  923 


THE  TURTLE  AND  FLAMINGO 

A  LIVELY  young  turtle  lived  down  by  the  banks 
Of  a  dark  rolling  stream  called  the  Jingo; 
And  one  summer  day,  as  he  went  out  to  play, 
Fell  in  love  with  a  charming  flamingo — 
An  enormously  genteel  flamingo ! 
An  expansively  crimson  flamingo! 
A  beautiful,  bouncing  flamingo! 

Spake  the  turtle,  in  tones  like  a  delicate  wheeze: 

"  To  the  water  I've  oft  seen  you  in  go,  ^ 

And  your  form  has  impressed  itself  deep  on  my  shell, 

You  perfectly  modelled  flamingo! 

You  tremendously  A-1  flamingo! 

You  in-ex-press-i-ble  flamingo ! 

"  To  be  sure,  I'm  a  turtle,  and  you  are  a  belle, 

And  my  language  is  not  your  fine  lingo; 

But  smile  on  me,  tall  one,  and  be  my  bright  flame, 

You  miraculous,  wondrous  flamingo! 

You  blazingly  beauteous  flamingo! 

You  turtle-absorbing  flamingo! 

You  inflammably  gorgeous  flamingo!" 

Then  the  proud  bird  blushed  redder  than  ever  before. 

And  that  was  quite  un-nec-es-sa-ry. 

And  she  stood  on  one  leg  and  looked  out  of  one  eye. 

The  position  of  things  for  to  vary, — 

This  aquatical,  musing  flamingo! 

This  dreamy,  uncertain  flamingo! 

This  embarrasing,  harassing  flamingo ! 

Then  she  cried  to  the  quadruped,  greatly  amazed: 

"  Why  your  passion  toward  me  do  you  hurtle? 

I'm  an  ornithological  wonder  of  grace, 

And  you're  an  illogical  turtle, — 

A  waddling,  impossible  turtle! 

A  low-minded,  grass-eating  turtle! 

A  highly  improbable  turtle!" 


924  Natural  History 

Then  the  turtle  sneaked  off  with  his  nose  to  the  ground 

And  never  more  looked  at  the  lasses; 

And  falling  asleep,  while  indulging  his  grief, 

Was  gobbled  up  whole  by  Agassiz, — 

The  peripatetic  Agassiz! 

The  turtle-dissecting  Agassiz! 

The  illustrious,  industrious  Agassiz! 

Go  with  me  to  Cambridge  some  cool,  pleasant  day. 

And  the  skeleton  lover  I'll  show  you; 

He's  in  a  hard  case,  but  he'll  look  in  your  face. 

Pretending  (the  rogue!)  he  don't  know  you! 

Oh;  the  deeply  deceptive  young  turtle! 

The  double-faced,  glassy-cased  turtle! 

The  green  but  a  very  moch  turtle ! 

James  Thomas  Fields. 


XV 

JUNIORS 

PRIOR  TO  MISS  BELLE'S  APPEARANCE 

What  makes  you  come  here  fer,  Mister, 

So  much  to  our  house? — Sayi 
Come  to  see  our  big  sister ! — 
An'  Charley  he  says  'at  you  kissed  her 

An'  he  ketched  you,  thuther  day! — 
Didn'  you,  Charley? — But  we  p'omised  Belle 
And  crossed  our  heart  to  never  to  tell — 
'Cause  she  gived  us  some  o'  them-er 
Chawk'lut-drops  'at  you  bringed  to  her! 

Charley  he's  my  little  b'uther— 

An'  we  has  a-mostest  fun. 
Don't  we,  Charley? — Our  Muther, 
Whenever  we  whips  one-anuther, 

Tries  >to  whip  us — an'  we  run — 
Don't  we,  Charley? — An'  nen,  bime-by, 
Nen  she  gives  us  cake — an'  pie — 
Don't  she,  Charley? — when  we  come  in 
An'  p'bmise  never  to  do  it  agin ! 

He's  named  Charley. — I'm  Willie —    ' 

An'  I'm  got  the  purtiest  name! 
But  Uncle  Bob  he  calls  me  "  Billy  "— 
Don't  he,  Charley  ?—'Nour  filly 

We  named  "  Billy,"  the  same 
1st  like  me!     An'  our  Ma  said 
'At  "  Bob  put  foolishnuss  into  our  head!  " — 
Didn'  she,  Charley? — An'  sJie  don't  know 
Much  about  hoys! — 'Cause  Bob  said  sol 
026 


926  Juniors 

Baby's  a  funniest  feller! 

Naint  no  hair  on  his  head — 
Is  they,  Charley  ?    It's  meller 
Wite  up  there !    An'  ef  Belle  er 

Us  ask  wuz  we  that  way,  Ma  said, — 
"  Yes ;  an'  yer  Pa's  head  wuz  soft  as  that, 
An'  it's  that  way  yet!  " — An'  Pa  grabs  his  hat 
An'  says,  "  Yes,  childern,  she's  right  about  Pa — 
'Cause  that's  the  reason  he  married  yer  Ma !  " 

An'  our  Ma  says  'at  "  Belle  couldn' 

Ketch  nothin  'at  all  but  ist '  hows! '  '* 
An'  Pa  says  'at  "  you're  soft  as  puddun !  " — 
An  Uncle  Boh  says  "  you're  a  good-un — 

'Cause  he  can  tell  by  yer  nose !  " — 
Didn'  he,  Charley?    And  when  Belle'll  play 
In  the  poller  on  th'  pianer,  some  day, 
Bob  makes  up  funny  songs  about  you. 
Till  she  gits  mad — like  he  wants  her  to ! 

Our  sister  Fanny,  she's  'leven 

Years  old.    'At's  mucher  'an  1 — 
Ain't  it,  Charley?   .    .    .  I'm  seven! — 
But  our  sister  Fanny's  in  Heaven! 

Nere's  where  you  go  ef  you  die ! — 
Don't  you,  Charley?    Nen  you  has  wings — 
Ist  like  Fanny! — an'  purtiest  things! — 
Don't  you,  Charley  ?    An'  nen  you  can  fly — 
Ist  fly — an' everything!   .    .    .  Wisht  7'(i  die ! 

lames  Whitcomh  Riley. 


THERE  WAS  A  LITTLE  GIRL 

There  was  a  little  girl. 
And  she  had  a  little  curl 

Right  in  the  middle  of  her  forehead. 
When  she  was  good 
She  was  very,  very  good, 

And  when  she  was  bad  she  was  horrid. 


The  Naughty  Darkey  Boy  927 

One  day  she  went  upstairs, 
When  her  parents,  unawares. 

In  the  kitchen  were  occupied  with  meals 
And  she  stood  upon  her  head 
In  her  little  trundle-bed. 

And  then  began  hooraying  with  her  heels. 


Her  mother  heard  the  noise. 
And  she  thought  it  was  the  boys 

A-playing  at  a  combat  in  the  attic; 
But  when  she  climbed  the  stair, 
And  found  Jemima  there, 

She  took  and  she  did  spank  her  most  emphatic. 

Unknown. 


THE  NAUGHTY  DARKEY  BOY 

There  was  a  cruel  darkey  boy. 

Who  sat  upon  the  shore, 
A  catching  little  fishes  by 

The  dozen  and  the  score. 


And  as  they  squirmed  and  wriggled  there, 

He  shouted  loud  with  glee, 
"  You  surely  cannot  want  to  live. 

You're  little-er  dan  me." 


Just  then  with  a  malicious  leer, 
And  a  capacious  smile. 

Before  him  from  the  water  deep 
There  rose  a  crocodile. 


He  eyed  the  little  darkey  boy, 
Then  heaved  a  blubbering  sigh. 

And  said,  "  You  cannot  want  to  live. 
You're  little-er  than  I." 


928  Juniors 

The  fishes  squirm  and  wriggle  still, 
Beside  that  sandy  shore, 

The  cruel  little  darkey  boy, 
Was  never  heard  of  more. 


Unknown. 


DUTCH  LULLABY 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 

Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe, — 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  misty  light 

Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish  ?  " 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
"  We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring-fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said  Wynken, 
Blynken,    ; 
And  Nod. 


The  old  moon  laughed  and  sung  a  song, 
As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe; 
And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long 

Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew; 
The  little  stars  were  the  herring-fish 
That  lived  in  the  beautiful  sea. 
"  Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish. 
But  never  afeard  are  we !  " 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 


All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 

For  the  fish  in  the  twinkling  foam, 

Then  down  from  the  sky  came  the  wooden  shoe, 
Bringing  the  fishermen  home; 


The  Dinkey-Bird  929 

'Twas  all  so  pretty  a  sail,  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be; 
And  some  folk  thought  'twas  a  dream  they'd  dreamed 
Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea ; 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three : 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head. 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed; 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  Mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be. 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 
As  you  rock  on  the  misty  sea 
Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Eugene  Field. 


THE  DINKEY-BIKD 

In  an  ocean,  'way  out  yonder 

(As  all  sapient  people  know). 
Is  the  land  of  Wonder-Wander, 

Whither  children  love  to  go; 
It's  their  playing,  romping,  swinging, 

That  give  great  joy  to  me 
While  the  Dinkey-Bird  goes  singing 

In  the  Amf alula-tree ! 

There  the  gum-drops  grow  like  cherries. 

And  taffy's  thick  as  peas, — 
Caramels  you  pick  like  berries 

When,  and  where,  and  how  you  please 


930  Juniors 

Big  red  sugar-plums  are  clinging 

To  the  cliffs  beside  that  sea 
Where  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 

In  the  Amfalula-tree. 

So  when  children  shout  and  scamper 

And  make  merry  all  the  day, 
When  there's  naught  to  put  a  damper 

To  the  ardor  of  their  play; 
When  I  hear  their  laughter  ringing, 

Then  I'm  sure  as  sure  can  be 
That  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 

In  the  Amfalula-tree. 

For  the  Dinkey-Bird's  bravuras 

And  staccatos  are  so  sweet — 
His  roulades,  appogiaturas, 

And  robustos  so  complete, 
That  the  youth  of  every  nation — 

Be  they  near  or  far  away — 
Have  especial  delectation 

In  that  gladsome  roundelay. 

Their  eyes  grow  bright  and  brighter, 

Their  lungs  begin  to  crow. 
Their  hearts  get  light  and  lighter, 

And  their  cheeks  are  all  aglow; 
For  an  echo  cometh  bringing 

The  news  to  all  and  me. 
That  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 

In  the  Amfalula-tree. 

I'm  sure  you'd  like  to  go  there 

To  see  your  feathered  friend — 
And  so  many  goodies  grow  there 

You  would  like  to  comprehend ! 
Speed,  little  dreams,  your  winging 

To  that  land  across  the  sea 
Where  the  Dinkey-Bird  is  singing 

In  the  Amf alula-Tree! 

Eugene  Field. 


The  Little  Peach  931 


THE  LITTLE  PEACH 

A  LITTLE  peach  in  the  orchard  grew, 
A  little  peach  of  emerald  hue : 
Warmed  by  the  sun,  and  wet  by  the  dew. 
It  grew. 

One  day,  walking  the  orchard  through. 
That  little  peach  dawned  on  the  view 
Of  Johnny  Jones  and  his  sister  Sue — 
Those  two. 

Up  at  the  peach  a  club  they  threw : 
Down  from  the  limb  on  which  it  grew. 
Fell  the  little  peach  of  emerald  hue — 
Too  true! 

John  took  a  bite,  and  Sue  took  a  chew, 
And  then  the  trouble  began  to  brew, — 
Trouble  the  doctor  couldn't  subdue, — 
Paregoric  too. 

Under  the  turf  where  the  daisies  grew, 
They  planted  John  and  his  sister  Sue; 
And  their  little  souls  to  the  angels  flew — 
Boo-hoo! 

But  what  of  the  peach  of  emerald  hue, 
Warmed  by  the  sun,  and  wet  by  the  dew  ? 
Ah,  well !  its  mission  on  earth  is  through — 
Adieu ! 

Eugene  Field. 


932  Juniors 


COUNSEL  TO  THOSE  THAT  EAT 

With  chocolate-cream  that  you  buy  in  the  cake 
Large  mouthf  uls  and  hurry  are  quite  a  mistake. 

Wise  persons  prolong  it  as  long  as  they  can 
But  putting  in  practice  this  excellent  plan. 

The  cream  from  the  chocolate  lining  they  dig 
With  a  Runaway  match  or  a  clean  little  twig. 

Many  hundreds, — nay,  thousands — of  scoopings  they  make 
Before  they've  exhausted  a  twopenny  cake. 

With  ices  'tis  equally  wrongful  to  haste; 

You  ought  to  go  slowly  and  dwell  on  each  taste. 

Large  mouthfuls  are  painful,  as  well  as  unwise, 
Eor  they  lead  to  an  ache  at  the  back  of  the  eyes. 


And  the  delicate  sip  is  e'en  better,  one  finds, 
If  the  ice  is  a  mixture  of  different  kinds. 


HOME  AND  MOTHER 

Sleep,  my  own  darling. 

By,  baby,  by; 
Mother  is  with  thee. 
By,  baby,  by. 
There,  baby.    (Oh,  how  the  wild  winds  wail !) 
Hush,  baby.    (Turning  to  sleet  and  hail; 
Ah,  how  the  pine-tree  moans  and  mutters ! — 
I  wonder  if  Ellen  will  think  of  the  shutters?) 

Sleep,  my  own  darling. 

By,  baby,  by; 
Mother  is  with  thee, 

By,  baby,  by. 


Unknown. 


Home  and  Mother  933 

Rest  thee.     (She  couldn't  have  left  the  blower 
Down  in  the  parlor?    There's  so  much  to  show  her!) 
By-by,  my  sweetest.     (Now  the  rain's  pouring! 
Is  it  wind  or  the  dining-room  fire  that's  roaring?) 

Sleep,  my  own  darling, 

By,  baby,  by; 
Mother  is  with  thee, 
By,  baby,  by. 
How  lovely  his  forehead! — my  own  blessed  pet! 
He's  nearly  asleep.     (Now  I  mustn't  forget 
That  pork  in  the  brine,  and  the  stair-rods  to-morrow.) 
Heaven  shield  him  forever  from  trouble  and  sorrow! 

Sleep,  my  own  darling. 

By,  baby,  by; 
Mother  is  with  thee. 
By,  baby,  by. 
Those  dear  little  ringlets,  so  silky  and  bright! 
(I  do  hope  the  muffins  will  be  nice  and  light.) 
How  lovely  he  is!     (Yes,  she  said  she  could  fry.) 
Oh,  what  would  I  do  if  my  baby  should  die! 

Sleep,  my  own  darling. 

By,  baby,  by; 
Mother  is  with  thee. 
By,  baby,  by. 
That  sweet  little  hand,  and  the  soft,  dimpled  cheek! 
Sleep,  darling.    (I'll  have  his  clothes  shortened  this  week. 
How  tightly  he's  holding  my  dress ;    I'm  afraid 
He'll  wake  when  I  move.    There !  his  bed  isn't  made !) 

Sleep,  my  own  darling, 

By,  baby,  by; 
In  thy  soft  cradle 
Peacefully  lie. 
(He's  settled  at  last.    But  I  can't  leave  him  so, 
Though  I  ought  to  be  going  this  instant,  I  know. 
There's  everything  standing  and  waiting  down-stairs. 
Ah  me,  but  a  mother  is  cumbered  with  cares!) 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge. 


934  Juniors 


LITTLE  ORPHANT  ANNIE 

Little  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay, 

An'  wash  the  cups  and  saucers  up,  an'  brush  the  crumbs  away, 

An'  shoo  the  chickens  off  the  porch,  an'  dust  the  hearth,  an' 

sweep. 
An'  make  the  fire,  an'  bake  the  bread,  an'  earn  her  board- 

an'-keep ; 
An'  all  us  other  children,  when  the  supper  things  is  done, 
We  set  around  the  kitchen  fire  an'  has  the  mostest  fun 
A-list'nin'  to  the  witch-tales  'at  Annie  tells  about, 
An'  the  Gobble-uns  'at  gits  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 


Onc't  there  was  a  little  boy  wouldn't  say  his  pray'rs — 
An'  when  he  went  to  bed  at  night,  away  up  stairs, 
His  mammy  heerd  him  holler,  an'  his  daddy  heerd  him  bawl, 
An'  when  they  turn't  the  kivvers  down,  he  wasn't  there  at  all ! 
An'  they  seeked  him  in  the  rafter-room,  an'  cubby-hole,  an' 

press, 
An'  seeked  him  up  the  chimbly-flue,  an'  ever'wheres,  I  guess ; 
But  all  they  ever  found  was  thist  his  pants  an'  roundabout! 
An'  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
OutI 


An'  one  time  a  little  girl  'ud  alius  laugh  an'  grin, 

An'  make  fun  of  ever'  one,  an'  all  her  blood-an'-kin ; 

An'  onc't  when  they  was  "  company,"  an'  ole  folks  was  there. 

She  mocked  'em  an'  shocked  'em,  an'  said  she  didn't  care! 

An'  thist  as  she  kicked  her  heels,  an'  turn't  to  run  an'  hide. 

They  was  two  great  big  Black  Things  a-standin'  by  her  side, 


A  Visit  from  St.  Nicholas  935 

An'  they  snatched  her  through  the  ceilin'  'fore  she  knowed 

what  she  's  about! 
An'  the  Gobble- uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 


An'  little  Orphant  Annie  says,  when  the  blaze  is  blue, 
An'  the  lampwick  sputters,  an'  the  wind  goes  woo-oo! 
An'  you  hear  the  crickets  quit,  an'  the  moon  is  gray, 
An'  the  lightnin'-bugs  in  dew  is  all  squenched  away, — 
You  better  mind  yer  parents,  and  yer  teachers  fond  and  dear, 
An'  churish  them  'at  loves  you,  an'  dry  the  orphant's  tear, 
An'  he'p  the  pore  an'  needy  ones  'at  clusters  all  about, 
Er  the  Gobble-uns'll  git  you 
Ef  you 
Don't 

Watch 
Out! 

James  Whitcomh  Riley. 


A  VISIT  FROM  ST.  NICHOLAS 

'TwAS  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through  the  house 

Not  a  creature  was  stirring,  not  even  a  mouse; 

The  stockings  were  hung  by  the  chimney  with  care. 

In  hopes  that  St.  Nicholas  soon  would  be  there; 

The  children  were  nestled  all  snug  in  their  beds. 

While  visions  of  sugar-plums  danced  in  their  heads; 

And  mamma  in  her  kerchief,  and  I  in  my  cap, 

Had  just  settled  our  brains  for  a  long  winter's  nap, 

When  out  on  the  lawn  there  arose  such  a  clatter, 

I  sprang  from  the  bed  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 


936  Juniors 

Away  to  the  window  I  flew  like  a  flash, 

Tore  open  the  shutters,  and  threw  up  the  sash. 

The  moon  on  the  breast  of  the  new-fallen  snow 

Gave  a  luster  of  mid-day  to  objects  below, 

When,  what  to  my  wondering  eyes  should  appear. 

But  a  miniature  sleigh,  and  eight  tiny  reindeer, 

With  a  little  old  driver,  so  lively  and  quick, 

I  knew  in  a  moment  it  must  be  St.  Nick. 

More  rapid  than  eagles  his  coursers  they  came, 

And  he  whistled,  and  shouted,  and  called  them  by  name; 

"  Now,  Dasher!  now.  Dancer!  now,  Prancer  and  Vixen! 

On,  Comet!  on,  Cupid!  on,  Dunder  and  Blitzen! 

To  the  top  of  the  porch!    To  the  top  of  the  wall! 

Now,  dash  away!    Dash  away!    Dash  away  all!  " 

As  dry  leaves  that  before  the  wild  hurricane  fly. 

When  they  meet  with  an  obstacle,  mount  to  the  sky; 

So  up  to  the  housetop  the  coursers  they  flew, 

With  the  sleigh  full  of  toys,  and  St.  Nicholas,  too. 

And  then  in  a  twinkling,  I  heard  on  the  roof 

The  prancing  and  pawing  of  each  little  hoof. 

As  I  drew  in  my  head,  and  w^s  turning  around, 

Down  the  chimney  St.  Nicholas  came  with  a  bound. 

He  was  dressed  all  in  fur,  from  his  head  to  his  foot. 

And  his  clothes  were  all  tarnished  with  ashes  and  soot; 

A  bundle  of  toys  he  had  flung  on  his  back, 

And  he  looked  like  a  peddler  just  opening  his  pack. 

His  eyes — how  they  twinkled! — his  dimples  how  merry! 

His  cheeks  were  like  roses,  his  nose  like  a  cherry ! 

His  droll  little  mouth  was  drawn  up  like  a  bow. 

And  the  beard  of  his  chin  was  as  white  as  the  snow; 

The  stump  of  a  pipe  he  held  tight  in  his  teeth. 

And  the  smoke  it  encircled  his  head  like  a  wreath; 

He  had  a  broad  face  and  a  round  little  belly. 

That  shook  when  he  laughed  like  a  bowlful  of  jelly. 

He  was  chubby  and  plump,  a  right  jolly  old  elf. 

And  I  laughed  when  I  saw  him,  in  spite  of  myself; 

A  wink  of  his  eye  and  a  twist  of  his  head. 

Soon  gave  me  to  know  I  had  nothing  to  dread; 

He  spoke  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  his  work. 

And  filled  all  the  stockings;  then  turned  with  a  jerk, 


A  Nursery  Legend  937 

And  laying  his  finger  aside  of  his  nose, 

And  giving  a  nod,  up  the  chimney  he  rose; 

He  sprang  to  his  sleigh,  to  his  team  gave  a  whistle, 

And  away  they  all  flew  like  the  down  of  a  thistle; 

But  I  heard  him  exclaim,  ere  he  drove  out  of  sight, 

"  Happy  Christmas  to  all,  and  to  all  a  good  night! " 

Clement  Clarke  Moore. 


A  NUKSERY  LEGEND 

Oh  I  listen,  little  children,  to  a  proper  little  song 

Of  a  naughty  little  urchin  who  was  always  doing  wrong: 

He  disobey'd  his  mammy,  and  he  disobey'd  his  dad, 

And  he  disobey'd  his  uncle,  which  was  very  near  as  bad. 

He  wouldn't  learn  to  cipher,  and  he  wouldn't  learn  to  write, 

But  he  would  tear  up  his  copy-books  to  fabricate  a  kite; 

And  he  used  his  slate  and  pencil  in  so  barbarous  a  way, 

That  the  grinders  of  his  governess  got  looser  ev'ry  day. 


At  last  he  grew  so  obstinate  that  no  one  could  contrive 

To  cure  him  of  a  theory  that  two  and  two  made  five 

And,  when  they  taught  him  how  to  spell,  he  show'd  his  wicked 

whims 
By  mutilating  Pinnock  and  mislaying  Watts's  Hymns. 
Instead  of  all  such  pretty  books,   (which  must  improve  the 

mind,) 
He  cultivated  volumes  of  a  most  improper  kind; 
Directories  and  almanacks  he  studied  on  the  sly, 
And  gloated  over  Bradshaw's  Guide  when  nobody  was  by. 


From  such  a  course  of  reading  you  can  easily  divine 
The  condition  of  his  morals  at  the  age  of  eight  or  nine. 
His  tone  of  conversation  kept  becoming  worse  and  worse, 
Till  it  scandalised  his  governess  and  horrified  his  nurse. 
He  quoted  bits  of  Bradshaw  that  were  quite  unfit  to  hear. 
And  recited  from  the  Almanack,  no  matter  who  was  near: 


938  Juniors 

He  talked  of  Reigate  Junction  and  of  trains  both  up  and 

down, 
And  referr'd  to  men  who  call'd  themselves  Jones,  Robinson, 

and  Brown. 

But  when  this  naughty  boy  grew  up  he  found  the  proverb 

true, 
That  Fate  one  day  makes  people  pay  for  all  the  wrong  they 

do. 
He  was  cheated  out  of  money  by  a  man  whose  name  was 

Brown, 
And  got  crippled  in  a  railway  smash  while  coming  up  to 

town. 
So,  little  boys  and  little  girls,  take  warning  while  you  can, 
And  profit  by  the  history  of  this  unhappy  man. 
Read  Dr.  Watts  and  Pinnock,  dears;  and  when  you  learn  to 

spell. 
Shun  Railway  Guides,  Directories,  and  Almanacks  as  well! 

Henry  S.  Leigh. 


A  LITTLE  GOOSE 

The  chill  November  day  was  done, 

The  working  world  home  faring; 
The  wind  came  roaring  through  the  streets 

And  set  the  gas-lights  flaring; 
And  hopelessly  and  aimlessly 

The  scared  old  leaves  were  flying; 
When,  mingled  with  the  sighing  wind, 

I  heard  a  small  voice  crying. 

And  shivering  on  the  corner  stood 

A  child  of  four,  or  over; 
No  cloak  or  hat  her  small,  soft  arms, 

And  wind  blown  curls  to  cover. 
Her  dimpled  face  was  stained  with  tears ; 

Her  round  blue  eyes  ran  over; 
She  cherished  in  her  wee,  cold  hand, 

A  bunch  of  faded  clover. 


A  Little  Goose 

And  one  hand  round  her  treasure  while 

She  slipped  in  mine  the  other: 
Half  scared,  half  confidential,  said, 

"  Oh !  please,  I  want  my  mother !  " 
"  Tell  me  your  street  and  number,  pet : 

Don't  cry,  I'll  take  you  to  it." 
Sobbing  she  answered,  "  I  forget : 

The  organ  made  me  do  it. 

"  He  came  and  played  at  Milly's  steps, 

The  monkey  took  the  money; 
And  so  I  followed  down  the  street, 

The  monkey  was  so  funny. 
I've  walked  about  a  hundred  hours, 

From  one  street  to  another: 
The  monkey's  gone,  I've  spoiled  my  flowers. 

Oh!  please,  I  want  my  mother." 

"  But  what's  your  mother's  name  ?  and  what 

The  street?    Now  think  a  minute." 
"  My  mother's  name  is  mamma  dear — 

The  street — I  can't  begin  it." 
"  But  what  is  strange  about  the  house. 

Or  new — not  like  the  others  ?  " 
"  I  guess  you  mean  my  trundle-bed, 

Mine  and  my  little  brother's. 

"  Oh  dear !  I  ought  to  be  at  home 

To  help  him  say  his  prayers, — 
He's  such  a  baby  he  forgets; 

And  we  are  both  such  players ; — 
And  there's  a  bar  to  keep  us  both 

From  pitching  on  each  other. 
For  Harry  rolls  when  he's  asleep : 

Oh  dear !  I  want  my  mother." 

The  sky  grew  stormy;  people  passed 

All  muffled,  homeward  faring: 
You'll  have  to  spend  the  night  with  me," 

I  said  at  last,  despairing. 


940  Juniors 

I  tied  a  kerchief  round  her  neck^ 
"  What  ribbon's  this,  my  blossom?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  know  ?  "  she  smiling,  said, 
And  drew  it  from  her  bosom. 

A  card  with  number,  street,  and  name; 

My  eyes  astonished  met  it; 
"  For,"  said  the  little  one,  "  you  see 

I  might  sometimes  forget  it: 
And  so  I  wear  a  little  thing 

That  tells  you  all  about  it; 
For  mother  says  she's  very  sure 

I  should  get  lost  without  it." 

Elisa  Sproat  Turner. 


LEEDLE  YAWCOB  STKAUSS 

I  HAF  von  funny  leedle  poy, 

Vot  comes  schust  to  mine  knee; 
Der  queerest  schap,  der  createst  rogue. 

As  efer  you  dit  see. 
He  runs,  und  schumps,  und  schmashes  dings 

In  all  harts  off  der  house : 
But  vot  off  dot?    He  vas  mine  son, 

Mine  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  get  der  measles  und  der  mumbs 

Und  eferyding  dot's  oudt; 
He  sbills  mine  glass  off  lager  bier, 

Foots  schnuii  indo  mine  kraut. 
He  fills  mine  pipe  mit  Limburg  cheese — 

Dot  vas  der  roughest  chouse; 
I'd  dake  dot  vrom  no  oder  poy 

But  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  dakes  der  milk-ban  for  a  dhrum, 

Und  cuts  mine  cane  in  dwo, 
To  make  der  schticks  to  beat  it  mit — 

Mine  cracious,  dot  vas  drue! 


A  Parental  Ode  to  My  Son  941 

I  dinks  mine  had  vas  schplit  abart. 

He  kicks  oup  sooch  a  louse : 
But  nef er  mind ;  der  poys  vas  few 

Like  dot  young  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  asks  me  questions  sooch  as  dese: 

Who  baints  mine  nose  so  red  ? 
Who  vas  it  cuts  dot  schmoodth  blace  oudt 

Vrom  der  hair  ubon  mine  hed? 
Und  vere  dere  plaze  goes  vrom  her  lamp 

Vene'er  der  glim  I  douse. 
How  gan  I  all  dose  dings  eggsblain 

To  dot  schmall  Yawcob  Strauss  ? 

I  somedimes  dink  I  schall  go  vild 

Mit  sooch  a  grazy  poy, 
Und  vish  vonce  more  I  gould  haf  rest, 

Und  beaceful  dimes  enshoy; 
But  ven  he  vas  aschleep  in  ped 

So  guiet  as  a  mouse, 
I  prays  der  Lord,  "  Dake  anyding. 

But  leaf  dot  Yawcob  Strauss." 

Charles  Follen  Adams. 


A  PAEENTAL  ODE  TO  MY  SON,  AGED  THREE 
YEARS  AND  FIVE  MONTHS 

Thou  happy,  happy  elf! 
(But  stop, — first  let  me  kiss  away  that  tear) — 

Thou  tiny  image  of  myself ! 
(My  love,  he's  poking  peas  into  his  ear!) 

Thou  merry,  laughing  sprite! 

With  spirits  feather-light, 
Untouched  by  sorrow,  and  unsoiled  by  sin — 
(Good  Heavens !  the  child  is  swallowing  a  pin !) 

Thou  little  tricksy  Puck ! 
With  antic  toys  so  funnily  bestuck. 
Light  as  the  singing  bird  that  wings  the  air — 
(The  door!  the  door!  he'll  tumble  down  the  stair!) 


942  Juniors 

Thou  darling  of  thy  sire! 
(Why,  Jane,  he'll  set  his  pinafore  afire!) 

Thou  imp  of  mirth  and  joy! 
In  love's  dear  chain,  so  strong  and  bright  a  link, 
Thou  idol  of  thy  parents — (Drat  the  boy! 

There  goes  my  ink !) 

Thou  cherub — but  of  earth; 
Fit  playfellow  for  Fays,  by  moonlight  pale, 

In  harmless  sport  and  mirth, 
(That  dog  will  bite  him  if  he  pulls  its  tail !) 

Thou  human  humming-bee,  extracting  honey 
From  every  blossom  in  the  world  that  blows, 

Singing  in  youth's  elysium  ever  sunny, 
(Another  tumble! — that's  his  precious  nose!) 


Thy  father's  pride  and  hope! 
(He'll  break  the  mirror  with  that  skipping-rope !) 
With  pure  heart  newly  stamped  from  Nature's  mint — 
(Where  did  he  learn  that  squint?) 

Thou  young  domestic  dove ! 
(He'll  have  that  jug  off  with  another  shove!) 

Dear  nursling  of  the  Hymeneal  nest! 

(Are  those  torn  clothes  his  best?) 

Little  epitome  of  man! 
(He'll  climb  upon  the  table,  that's  his  plan!) 
Touched  with  the  beauteous  tints  of  dawning  life 

(He's  got  a  knife!) 

Thou  enviable  being! 
No  storms,  no  clouds,  in  thy  blue  sky  foreseeing, 

Play  on,  play  on, 

My  elfin  John! 
Toss  the  light  ball — bestride  the  stick — 
(I  knew  so  many  cakes  would  make  him  sick !) 
With  fancies,  buoyant  as  the  thistle-down. 
Prompting  the  face  grotesque,  and  antic  brisk. 

With  many  a  lamb-like  frisk, 
(Re's  got  the  scissors,  snipping  at  your  gown !) 


Little  Mamma  943 

Thou  pretty  opening  rose! 
(Go  to  your  mother,  child,  and  wipe  your  nose!) 
Balmy  and  breathing  music  like  the  South, 
(He  really  brings  my  heart  into  my  mouth!) 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  brilliant  as  its  star, — 
(I  wish  that  window  had  an  iron  bar!) 
Bold  as  the  hawk,  yet  gentle  as  the  dove, — 

(I'll  tell  you  what,  my  love, 
I  cannot  write  unless  he's  sent  above !) 

Thomas  Hood. 


LITTLE  MAMMA 

Why  is  it  the  children  don't  love  me 

As  they  do  Mamma  ? 
That  they  put  her  ever  above  me — 

"  Little  Mamma  ?  " 
I'm  sure  I  do  all  that  I  can  do. 
What  more  can  a  rather  big  man  do. 

Who  can't  be  Mamma — 
Little  Mamma? 


Any  game  that  the  tyrants  suggest, 
"  Logomachy," — which  I  detest, — 
Doll-babies,  hop-scotch,  or  baseball, 
I'm  always  on  hand  at  the  call. 
When  Noah  and  the  others  embark, 
I'm  the  elephant  saved  in  the  ark. 
I  creep,  and  I  climb,  and  I  crawl — 
By  turns  am  the  animals  all. 

For  the  show  on  the  stair 

I'm  always  the  bear, 
Chimpanzee,  camel,  or  kangaroo. 

It  is  never,  "  Mamma, — 
Little  Mamma, — 
Won't  youf  " 


944  Juniors 

My  umbrella's  the  pony,  if  any — 
None  ride  on  Mamma's  parasol: 
Fm  supposed  to  have  always  the  penny 
For  bonbons,  and  beggars,  and  all. 
My  room  is  the  one  where  they  clatter — 
Am  I  reading,  or  writing,  what  matter ! 
My  knee  is  the  one  for  a  trot. 
My  foot  is  the  stirrup  for  Dot. 
If  his  fractions  get  into  a  snarl 
Who  straightens  the  tangles  for  Karl  ? 
Who  bounds  Massachusetts  and  Maine, 
And  tries  to  bound  flimsy  old  Spain  ? 
Why, 

It  is  I, 

Papa, — 

Not  Little  Mamma ! 

That  the  youngsters  are  ingrates  don't  say. 

I  think  they  love  me — in  a  way — 

As  one  does  the  old  clock  on  the  stair, — 

Any  curious,  cumbrous  affair 

That  one's  used  to  having  about. 

And  would  feel  rather  lonely  without. 

I  think  that  they  love  me,  I  say. 

In  a  sort  of  a  tolerant  way; 

But  it's  plain  that  Papa 

Isn't  Little  Mamma. 

Thus  when  twilight  comes  stealing  anear. 

When  things  in  the  firelight  look  queer; 

And  shadows  the  playroom  enwrap. 

They  never  climb  into  my  lap 

And  toy  with  my  head,  smooth  and  bare, 

As  they  do  with  Mamma's  shining  hair; 

Nor  feel  round  my  throat  and  my  chin 

For  dimples  to  put  fingers  in; 

Nor  lock  my  neck  in  a  loving  vise, 

And  say  they're  "  mousies  " — that's  mice — 

And  will  nibble  my  ears. 

Will  nibble  and  bite 
With  their  little  mice-teeth,  so  sharp  and  so  white. 


Little  Mamma  945 

K  I  do  not  kiss  them  this  very  minute — 
Don't-wait-a-bit-but-at-once-begin-it — 

Dear  little  Papa!  • 
That's  what  they  say  and  do  to  Mamma. 

If,  mildly  hinting,  I  quietly  say  that 
Kissing's  a  game  that  more  can  play  at. 
They  turn  up  at  once  those  innocent  eyes. 
And  I  suddenly  learn  to  my  great  surprise 

That  my  face  has  "  prickles  " — 

My  moustache  tickles. 
If,  storming  their  camp,  I  seize  a  pert  shaver. 
And  take  as  a  right  what  was  asked  as  a  favor. 

It  is,  "  Oh,  Papa, 

How  horrid  you  are — 
You  taste  exactly  like  a  cigar !  " 

But  though  the  rebels  protest  and  pout, 
And  make  a  pretence  of  driving  me  out, 
I  hold,  after  all,  the  main  redoubt, — 
Not  by  force  of  arms  nor  the  force  of  will. 
But  the  power  of  love,  which  is  mightier  still. 
And  very  deep  in  their  hearts,  I  know. 
Under  the  saucy  and  petulant  "  Oh," 
The  doubtful  ''  Yes,"  or  the  naughty  "  No," 
They  love  Papa. 

And  down  in  the  heart  that  no  one  sees,' 
Where  I  hold  my  feasts  and  my  jubilees, 
I  know  that  I  would  not  abate  one  jot 
Of  the  love  that  is  held  by  my  little  Dot 
Or  my  great  big  boy  for  their  little  Mamma, 
Though  out  in  the  cold  it  crowded  Papa. 
I  would  not  abate  it  the  tiniest  whit, 
And  I  am  not  jealous  the  least  little  bit; 
For  I'll  tell  you  a  secret :  Come,  my  dears, 
And  I'll  whisper  it^right-into-your-ears — 

I,  too,  love  Mamma, 

Little  Mamma! 

Charles  Henry  Webb. 


946  Juniors 


THE  COMICAL  GIKL 

There  was  a  child,  as  I  have  been  told, 

Who  when  she  was  young  didn't  look  very  old. 

Another  thing,  too,  some  people  have  said, 

At  the  top  of  her  body  there  grew  out  a  head; 

And  what  perhaps  might  make  some  people  stare 

Her  little  bald  pate  was  all  covered  with  hair. 

Another  strange  thing  which  made  gossipers  talk, 

Was  that  she  often  attempted  to  walk. 

And  then,  do  you  know,  she  occasioned  much  fun 

By  moving  so  fast  as  sometimes  to  run. 

Nay,  indeed,  I  have  heard  that  some  people  say 

She  often  would  smile  and  often  would  play. 

And  what  is  a  fact,  though  it  seems  very  odd. 

She  had  monstrous  dislike  to  the  feel  of  a  rod. 

This  strange  little  child  sometimes  hungry  would  be 

And  then  she  delighted  her  victuals  to  see. 

Even  drink  she  would  swallow,  and  though  strangs  it  appears 

Whenever  she  listened  it  was  with  her  ears. 

With  her  eyes  she  could  see,  and  strange  to  relate 

Her  peepers  were  placed  in  front  of  her  pate. 

There,  too,  was  her  mouth  and  also  her  nose. 

And  on  her  two  feet  were  placed  her  ten  toes. 

Her  teeth,  IVe  been  told,  were  fixed  in  her  gums, 

And  beside  having  fingers  she  also  had  thumbs. 

A  droll  child  she  therefore  most  surely  must  be. 

For  not  being  blind  she  was  able  to  see. 

One  circumstance  more  had  slipped  from  my  mind 

Which  is  when  not  cross  she  always  was  kind. 

And,  strangest  of  any  that  yet  I  have  said. 

She  every  night  went  to  sleep  on  her  bed. 

And,  what  may  occasion  you  no  small  surprise, 

When  napping,  she  always  shut  close  up  her  eyes. 

M.  Pelham. 


Bunches  of  Grapes  947 


BUNCHES  OF  GKAPES 

"  Bunches  of  grai)es,"  says  Timothy, 

"  Pomegrantes  pink,"  says  Elaine ; 
"A  junket  of  cream  and  a  cranberry  tart 

"  For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"Love-in-a-mist,"  says  Timothy, 

"  Primroses  pale,"  says  Elaine ; 
"  A  nosegay  of  pinks  and  mignonette 

For  me,"  says  Jane. 

"  Chariots  of  gold,"  says  Timothy, 

"  Silvery  wings,"  says  Elaine ; 
"  A  bumpety  ride  in  a  waggon  of  hay 

For  me,"  says  Jane. 

Walter  Ramal. 


XVI 
IMMORTAL  STANZAS 

THE  PURPLE  COW 

I  NEVER  saw  a  Purple  Cow, 
/  I  never  hope  to  see  one; 

But  I  can  tell  you,  anyhow, 
I'd  rather  see  than  be  one. 

Gelett  burgess. 

THE  YOUNG  LADY  OF  NIGER 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Niger 
Who  smiled  as  she  rode  on  a  Tiger; 

They  came  back  from  the  ride 

With  the  lady  inside, 
And  the  smile  on  the  face  of  the  Tiger. 

UnknoTim. 

THE  LAUGHING  WILLOW 

To  see  the  Kaiser's  epitaph 

Would  make  a  weeping  willow  laugh. 

Oliver  Her  ford. 

SAID  OPIE  READ 

Said  Opie  Read  to  E.  P.  Roe, 
"  How  do  you  like  Gaboriau  ? " 
"  I  like  him  very  much  indeed !  '* 
Said  E.  P.  Roe  to  Opie  Read. 

Julian  Street  and  James  Montgomery  Flagg. 
■  948 


Immortal  Stanzas  949 

MANILA 

Oh,  dewy  was  the  morning,  upon  the  first  of  May, 
And  Dewey  was  the  admiral,  down  in  Manila  Bay; 
And  dewy  were  the  Regent's  eyes,  them  royal  orbs  of  blue, 
And  do  we  feel  discouraged  ?    We  do  not  think  we  do ! , 

Eugene  F.  Ware. 

ON  THE  ARISTOCRACY  OF  HARVARD* 

I  COME  from  good  old  Boston, 

The  home  of  the  bean  and  the  cod; 
Where  the  Cabots  speak  only  to  Lowells, 
And  the  Lowells  speak  only  to  God ! 

Dr.  Samuel  G.  Bushnell. 

ON  THE  DEMOCRACY  OF  YALE 

Here's  to  the  town  of  New  Haven, 
The  home  of  the  truth  and  the  light; 

Where  God  speaks  to  Jones  in  the  very  same  tones, 
That  he  uses  with  Hadley  and  Dwight! 

Dean  Jones. 

THE  HERRING 

"  The  Herring  he  loves  the  merry  moonlight 

And  the  Mackerel  loves  the  wind, 
But  the  Oyster  loves  the  dredging  song 

For  he  comes  of  a  gentler  kind." 

Sir  Walter  Scott. 

IF  THE  MAN 

If  the  man  who  turnips  cries, 
Cry  not  when  his  father  dies, 
'Tis  a  proof  that  he  had  rather 
Have  a  turnip  than  his  father. 

Samuel  Johnson. 


950  Immortal  Stanzas 


THE  KILKENNY  CATS 

There  wanst  was  two  cats  of  Kilkenny, 
Each  thought  there  was  one  cat  too  many, 

So  they  quarrell'd  and  fit, 

They  scratch'd  and  they  bit; 

Till,  barrin'  their  nails. 

And  the  tips  of  their  tails. 
Instead  of  two  cats,  there  warnt  any. 

Unknown. 


/ 


J 


POOK  DEAK  GKANDPAPA 

What  is  the  matter  with  Grandpapa? 

What  can  the  matter  be  ? 
He's  broken  his  leg  in  trying  to  spell 

Tommy  without  a  T. 

D'Arcy   W.   Thompson. 

MOKE  WALKS 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad, 

How  many  rich  I  see; 
There's  A.  and  B.  and  C.  and  D. 

All  better  off  than  me ! 

Richard  Harris  Barham. 

INDIFFERENCE 

The  cat  is  in  the  parlpur. 

The  dog  is  in  the  lake; 
The  cow  is  in  the  hammock, — 

What  difference  does  it  make? 


MADAME  SANS  SOUCI 

"  Bon  jour,  Madame  Sans  Souci ; 
Combien  content  ces  soucis  ci  ?  " 
"  Six  sous."    "  Six  sous  ces  soucis  ci ! 
C'est  trop  cher,  Madame  Sans  Souci ! ' 


Immortal  Stanzas  951 


A  RIDDLE 


The  man  in  the  wilderness  asked  of  me 
How  many  strawberries  grew  in  the  sea. 
I  answered  him  as  I  thought  good, 
As  many  as  red  herrings  grow  in  the  wood. 


IF 


If  all  the  land  were  apple-pie, 

And  all  the  sea  were  ink; 
And  all  the  trees  were  bread  and  cheese. 

What  should  we  do  for  drink? 


THE  mro 


INDICES 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


PAGE 

Authors  Unknown 

All's   Well   That   Ends   Well  264 

Amazing    Facts   About    Food  91 

Ambiguous     Lines 804 

Any   One   Will    Do 169 

As    To   The    Weather    107 

Ballad  of  Bedlam,  A    886 

Ballad  of  High  Endeavor,  A  484 

Bellagcholly   Days    747 

Bells,  The    816 

Cameronian  Cat,  The   917 

Careful  Penman,  The 810 

Catalectic  Monody,  A 833 

Categorical  Courtship   207 

Chemist  to  His  Love,  A 206 

Christmas   Chimes    284 

Clown's  Courtship,  The   ....  217 

Conjugal  Conundrum,  A 371 

Cosmic   Egg,   The    771 

Cosmopolitan  Woman,  A  . . .  167 

Counsel   to   Those   That   Eat  932 

Country  Summer  Pastoral,  A  883 

Cupid's    Darts    67 

Darwinian    Ballad    913 

Dirge      787 

Father   William    531 

Fin  de  Siecle   357 

Fragment,    A    450 

Future   of   the   Classics,   The  826 

Gillian     511 

Homoeopathic  Soup   76 

Hyder    Iddle 879 

Idyll   of    Phatte   and   Leene, 

An       406 

If       951 

Imagiste  Love  Lines 383 

Imaginative   Crisis,    The    ...  451 

Imitations  of  Walt  Whitman  434 

Indifference       950 

Invitation    to    the    Zoological 

Gardens,  An   822 

Israfiddlestrings     472 

iustice  to  Scotland   384 

Kilkenny  Cats,   The   950 

Kindly   Advice    890 

King  John  and  the  Abbot  ..  554 

King    Arthur    879 

Learned  Negro,  The 274 

Life 783 

Lines     456 

Lines  by  an   Old   Fogy    ....  882 
Lines      to      Miss       Florence 

Huntingdon   830 

Lines  Written  After  a  Battle  456 

Little   Star,   The    476 

Logic     809 

Logical    English     809 

Lost  Spectacles,  The 287 

Love's  Moods  and  Tenses  . .  812 

Man  of  Words,  A   790 

Man's   Place    in    Nature    ...  89 

Maudle-in-Ballad.   A    510 

Midsummer  Madness    377 


956 


PAGE 

Minguillo's   Kiss    122 

Mme.   Sans  Souci    951 

Modern    Hiawatha,    The    . . .  482 

Mr.    Finney's  Turnip   847 

My   Dream    853 

My  Foe    529 

Naughty  Darkey  Boy,  The..  927 

Nirvana     900 

North,      East,      South      and 

West       403 

Nursery  Rhymes  a  la  Mode.  509 
Nursery      Song     in      Pidgin 

English     530 

Ocean  Wanderer,  The 879 

Ode  to  a  Bobtailed  Cat 736 

Odv 788 

On  a  Deaf  Housekeeper....  76 

Origin  of  Ireland,   The   ....  106 

Original   Lamb,  The   477 

Panegyric  on  the  Ladies 803 

Questions  with  Answers 810 

Rev.  Gabe  Tucker's  Remarks  312 

Riddle,    A    951 

Rural  Raptures 450 

Sainte  Margerie 477 

Siege  of  Belgrade,  The 813 

Similes    791 

Song  of  the  Springtide 527 

Sonnet  Found  in  a  Deserted 

Mad  House 851 

Stanzas  to  Pale  Ale 732 

Strike  Among  the  Poets,  A. .  785 

Susan  Simpson   774 

There  was  a  Little  Girl 926 

Thingumbob,  The 882 

Threie    Childi-en    843 

Three  Jovial  Huntsmen 878 

'Tis    Midnight     843 

*Tis  Sweet  to  Roam 878 

To  an  Importunate  Host  . . .  534 

To  Be  or  Not  To  Be 891 

Transcendentalism    92 

Trust  in  Women   276 

Two    Fishers   188 

Ultimate  Joy,  The 32 

Unfortunate  Miss  Bailey  . . .  702 

Village  Choir,  The   528 

Whango  Tree,  The   842 

What  is  a  Wom^i  Like?   ...  118 

Whenceness  of  the  Which   . .  476 

Whistler,  The   133 

Wonders  of   Nature    882 

Wordsworthian   Reminiscence  470 

Young  Lady  of  Niger,  The  . .  948 

Young    Lochinvar    381 

Adams,  Charles  Follen 

Leedle  Yawcob  Strauss   ....  940 

Adams,  Franklin  P. 

Erring  in  Company 55 

Popular  Ballad:  "  Never  For- 
get Your  Parents  " 394 


956 


Index  of  Authors 


PAGE 

To  a  Thesaurus   825 

Translated    Way    427 

Addison,  Joseph 

Song   751 

To  a  Capricious  Friend   ....     368 

Aldrich,  Dr.  Henry 

Reasons  for  Drinking 364 

Anstey,  F. 

Select      Passages      from       a 
Coming  Poet   410 

Aristophanes 

Chorus  of  Women 126 

Ashby-Sterry,  J. 

Kindness  to  Animals 891 

Pet's  Punishment 184 

Atwell,  Roy 

Some  Little  Bug ^^ 

Aytoun,    William    E., 

Bitter    Bit,   The    45i 

Broken    Pitcher,   The    196 

Comfort   in    Affliction    453 

Husband's  Petition,  The    . . .     454 
Lay   of    the   Lover's   Friend, 
The     88 

Aytoun,   William    E.,   and 
Martin 
Lay  of  the  Love  Lorn,   The     537 

Bailey,    Philip   James 

Great  Black  Crow,  The 908 

Ballard,  Harlan  Hoge 

In  the  Catacombs   52 

Bangs,  John  Kendrick 
"  Mona   Lisa  "    95 

Barham,    Richard    Harris 
[Thomas    Ingoldsby] 

Confession,  The   443 

Forlorn    One,    The    449 

Jackdaw  of  Rheims,  The  . . .  586 
Knight  and  the  Lady,  The  . .  S9o 
Misadventures  at  Margate  . .  558 
More   Walks  95o 


Bayly,  Thomas  Haynes  . 

Why  Don't  the  Men  Propose?  130 

Bede,   Cuthbert 

In  'Memoriam 463 

Beers,  Henry  A. 

Fish  Story,  A 916 

Bellaw,  a.   W. 

Conjugal  Conjugations 810 

Old   Line   Fence,   The    760 

Belloc,  Hilaire 

Frog,    The    907 

Llama,  The    906 

Microbe,    The    907 

Viper,    The    906 

Yak,    The    906 

Bennett,  John 

To  Marie 852 

Birdseye,  George 

Paradise 281 

Blake,    Rodney 

Hoch !   der   Kaiser   291 

Blake,  William 

Cupid 56 

Little  Vagabond,  The 269 

Blanchard,   Laman  , 

Art  of  Book-Keeping,  The  ..  818 

False  Love  and  True  Logic. .  183 


^age 

Ode  to  a  Human  Heart    . . .  784 

Whatever   is,  is   Right    786 

Bridges,   Madeline 

Third    Proposition,    The    ...  345 

Bridgman,  L.  J. 

On    Knowing    When   to    Stop  312 

Browne,  Charles  Farrar 

[Artemus    Ward] 

Uncle  Simon  and  Uncle  Jim  849 

Brownell,  Henry  Howard 
Lawyer's         Invocation         to 

Spring,     The     402 

Browning,  Robert 

Pied      Piper      of      Hamelin, 

The     603 

Pope  and  the  Net,  The 286 

Youth  and  Art   339 

Bunner,    H.   C. 

Behold    the    Deeds    397 

Home     Sweet     Home     with 

Variations    498 

Shake,  Mulleary  and  Go-Ethe  40 

Way  to  Arcady,  The    201 

BuRDETTE,  Robert  J. 

Orphan    Born    903 

Romance  of  the  Carpet,  The  674 

*'  Soldier,    Rest !  "    374 

"Songs  without  Words"    ..  413 

What   Will   We   Do?    311 

Burgess,  Gelett 

Dighton    is    Engaged    647 

Extracts    from    the    Rubaiyat 

of   Omar   Cayenne    512 

Invisible    Bridge,    The     855 

Kitty    Wants    to   Write    646 

Lazy    Roof,    The    855 

My    Feet    855 

Purple    Cow,    The    948 

Villanelle  of  Things  Amusing  73 

BURNAND,    F.    C. 

Fisherman's   Chant,   The    ...       81 

Oh,    My    Geraldine    180 

True    to    Poll     275 

Burns,  Robert 
Address  to  the  Toothache  . .     724 

Holy  Willie's  Prayer    2T2 

John    Barelycorn    730 

Tam     O'Shanter     623 

Bushnell,  Dr.  Samuel  G. 
On  the  Aristocracy   of   Har- 
vard          949 

Butler,  Ellis  Parker 

Secret  Combination,  The   . . .     209 

Butler,  Samuel 

Hypocrisy     365 

Religion    of    Hudibras,    The     271 
Smatterers     365 

Butler,   William   Allen 

Nothing  to   Wear    148 

Byron,  John 

Three    Black    Crows,    254 

Which    is    Which     368 

Byron,  Lord 

Written      After      Swimming 
from  Sestos  to  Abydos   . .       80 

Calverley,  Charles   Stuart 

Ballad     467 

,  Cock  and  the  Bull,  The    ...     464 

Companions    63 

Disaster    469 


Index  of  Authors 


957 


PAGE 

First    Love    n  6 

Lovers  and  a  Reflection   ....     372 

Ode  to  Tobacco    7Z2 

Schoolmaster,     The     64 

Cannan,  Edward 
Unexpected  Fact,  An   844 

Canning,  George 
Elderly    Gentlemen,    The    ..     665 

Knife-grinder,    The     249 

Song     84 

Carey,  Henry 

Sally    in    Our    Alley    182 

Carleton,   Will 
New  Church  Organ,   The   . .     162 

Carroll,  Lewis 

Father     William     485 

Humpty  Dumpty's  Recitation     872 
Hunting  of  the  Snark,  The.     676 

Jabberwocky     869 

Some    Hallucinations     874 

Walrus    and    the    Carpenter, 

The     896 

Ways  and   Means    870 

Carryl,  Charles  E. 

Post    Captain,    The    615 

Robinson    Crusoe's   Story    ..     617 

Carryl,  Guy  Wetmore 

Ballad,     A     426 

Girl     was     too     Reckless     of 
Grammar,   A   395 

Cary,  Phoebe 

Ballad   of  the   Canal    492 

"  The  Day  is  Done  "    490 

Jacob     491 

John    Thomson's    Daughter..     494 
There's    a    Bower    of    Bean- 
vines     493 

Reuben     493 

When   Lovely  Woman    494 

Wife,    The     494 

Cayley,    George   John 

Epitaph,     An     366 

Chambers,  Robert  W, 

Officer   Brady    232 

Recruit,    The    230 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey 
To  My  Empty   Purse   58 

Cheney,  John  Vance 

Kitchen    Clock,    The     220 

Chesterfield,  Lord 

On  a    Full-length  Portrait  of 
Beau    Marsh    369 

Chesterton,  G.  K. 

Ballade   of   an    Anti-Puritan, 

A 337 

Ballade  of   Suicide,   A    224 

Cholmondeley-Pennell,    H. 
How    the     Daughters     Come 

Down  At   Dunoon    533 

Lay     of     the     Deserted     In- 

fluenzaed     746 

Our     Traveller     445 

Clarke,   H.  E. 

Lady    Mine    221 

Clarke,    Lewis    Gaylord 

Flamingo,     The      894 

Claudius.  Matthew 
Hen,     The     892 

Cleveland 

On     Scotland     369 


PAGE 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh 

Latest  Decalogue,  The   261 

Coleridge,   Samuel  Taylor 

Cologne     363 

Eternal    Poem,    An     364 

Giles's    Hope     363 

House  that   Jack    Built,   The     407 

Job     364 

On  a  Bad  Singer    364 

Rhymester,  A    363 

Collins,  Mortimer 

Ad   Chloen,   M.A 184 

Chloe,    M.A 185 

If 436 

Martial   in   London    316 

My    Aunt's    Spectre     600 

Positivists,   The    315 

Salad     436 

Sky-Making     314 

Cone,  Helen  Gray 
Ballad  of   Cassandra   Brown, 
The    345 

Congreve,  William 
Buxom  Joan    1 79 

Cook,  Rev.  Joseph 

Boston  Nursery  Rhymes   . . .     324 

Corbet,    Bishop 

Like      to      the      Thundering 
Tone    848 

Cotton,  Charles 

Joys  of  Marriage,  The 344 

Cowley,  Abraham 

Chronicle:  A   Ballad,  The   ..      176 

CowPER,    William 

Colubriad,    The    909 

Diverting     History    of    John 

Gilpin,    The    564 

Pairing-Time  Anticipated  ...  212 
Report  of  an  Adjudged  Case  82 
Retired   Cat,   The    910 

Crane,  Stephen 

Man,     The     248 

Croffut,  William  Augustus 
Dirge,    A    737 

Cunningham,  Allan 
John    Grumlie    326 

Daniell,  Edith 

Inspect  .Us    471 

Davison,   Francis 

Are  Women  Fair  ? 189 

Day,  Holman  F. 

Grampy  Sings  a  Song  ....  670 
Deane,  Anthony  C. 

Here   is  the  Tale    421 

Imitation     375 

Rural   Bliss   97 

DeBurgh,   H.  J. 

Half  Hours  with  the  Classics  779 
Den  I  SON.  J.  P. 

Wing    Tee    Wee    139 

DiBDiN,  Charles 

Nongtongpaw     808 

Dillon,  Viscount 

Donnybrook  Jig,  The 700 

DoBsoN,    Austin 

Dialogue   From  Plato,  A   . . .      142 

Dora    Versus    Rose    144 

Jocosa    Lyra    824 


958 


Index  of  Authors 


PAGE 

Rondeau,  The  782 

Tu   Quoque    146 

Dodge,  H.  C. 
If  268 

Splendid  Fellow,  A 267 

Dodge,  Mary  Mapes 

Home  and  Mother   932 

Life  in  Laconics 3^1 

Over  the  Way    125 

Zealless    Xylographer,    The. .     759 

Dole,  Nathan   Haskell 
Our  Native  Birds   53 

Donne,  John 
Song    330 

Drummond,  William  Henry 
Wreck  of  the  "  Julie  Plante  "     662 

Dreyden,  John 

Epitaph     Intended     for     His 
Wife    368 

Edwards,   John    R. 

War:    A-Z.    The    829 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo 

Fable     290 

Fanshawe,  Catherine  M. 

Enigma  on   the  Letter   H    . .      762 
Imitation  of  Wordsworth,  An     535 

Farrow,  G.  E. 
Converted    Cannibals,    The..     683 
Retired  Pork-Butcher  and  the 
Spook.   The   685 

Field.  Eugene 

Dinkey-Bird,    The    929 

Dutch    Lullaby    928 

Little   Peach,  The    93i 

Truth  About  Horace,  The  ..       50 

Fields,  James  Thomas 

Alarmed   Skipper,  The 664 

Owl-Critic,   The    309 

Turtle     and    the     Flamingo, 
The    923 

Fink,  William  W. 
Larrie    O'Dee     165 

Flagg,  James  Montgomery 
[with  Julian  StreetI 
Said  Opie  Reed   948 

Foley.  J.  W. 

Nemesis 94 

Scientific    Proof    880 

Forrester,  Alfred  A.  [Al- 
fred CroquillI 
To  My   Nose    832 

Foss.  Sam  Walter 

Husband  and  Heather 160 

Ideal  Husband  to   His  Wife, 

The    246 

Meeting  of  the  Clabberhuses, 

The    244 

A    Philosopher    242 

Prayer  of  Cyrus  Brown,  The       54 
Then  Ag'in    357 


Gallienne.  Richard  le 

Melton  Mowbray  Pork-Pie,  A     472 
Gay.  John 

New  Song,  A   754 


PAGE 

Gilbert,   Paul   T. 

Triolet 120 

Gilbert,  W.  S. 

Etiquette     256 

Ferdinando   and   Elvira    ....  635 

Gentle  Alice   Brown    639 

Mighty  Must,  The 376 

Played-Out     Humorist,     The  25 

Practical  Joker,  The   ... 26 

Sing  for  the  Garish  Eye   . . .  875 

Sir    Guy    the    Crusader    ....  644 

Story  of  Prince  Agib,  The. .  641 

To  Phoebe    28 

To  the  Terrestrial  Globe 256 

Yarn  of  the  "  Nancy   Bell  "  632 

GiLLINAN,    S.    W. 

Finnigin  to  Flannigan 225 

GODLEY,    A.    D. 

After    Horace     320 

Pensees  de  Noel    336 

Goldsmith,   Oliver 

Elegy,  An    740 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad 

Dog,  An  764 

Parson  Gray   741 

GooGE,  Barnaby 

Out   of  Sight,   Out  of  Mind  807 

Graves,  Alfred  Perceval 

Father  O'Flynn    719 

Ould  Doctor  Macke 717 

Gray,   Thomas 
On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite 

Cat     557 

Greene,  Albert  Gorton 

Old  Grimes   766 

Grissom.  Arthur 

Ballade   of    Forgotten    Loves  223 

GuiTERMAN,  Arthur 

Elegy    445 

Legend  of  the  First  Cam-u-el, 

The    888 

Mavrone     378 

Mexican  Serenade 902 

Sketch  from  the  Life,  A   ...  121 

Strictly  Germ  Proof   87 

Halpine.  Charles  Graham 

Feminine  Arithmetic 191 

Harrington.  Sir  John 

Of  a  Certain  Man    282 

Of  a  Precise  Tailor   322 

Harte,  Bret 

Ballad  of  the  Emeu,  The  ...  921 

"Jim  "    652 

Plain  Language  from  Truth- 
ful James 648 

Society  Upon  the  Stanislaus, 

The    650 

To  the  Pliocene  Skull 46 

Willows,   The    423 

Hartswick,   F.  G. 

Somewhere-in-Europe-Wodky  482 

Hastings,  Lady  T. 

"  Exactly  So  "    61 

Hay,  John 

Distichs    247 

Enchanted    Shirt,    The    658 

Good  and  Bad  Luck 334 

Jim    Bludso     661 

Little  Breeches  657 


*^*.. 


Index  of  Authors 


959 


PAGE 

Hazzard,  John  Edward 

Ain't   It  Awful,   Mabel?    ...  137 
Heber,  Reginald 

Sympathy     270 

Henley,  William   Ernest 

Culture  in  the  Slums    400 

Her    Little   Teet    59 

Triolet,   The    782 

Villon's   Straight  Tip   to  All 

Cross   Coves    399 

Herford,  Oliver 

Catfish,     The     900 

Cloud.    The     134 

Laughing   Willow,    The    948 

Mark  Twain:  A  Pipe  Dream  30 

Phyllis  Lee    139 

War     Relief     901 

Herrick.  Robert 

Five    Wives    tjz 

No  Fault  in  Women 166 

Ternary   of    Littles    Upon    a 
Pipkin   of  Jelly  Sent  to  a 

Lady,    A    806 

Hill,  Marion 

Lovelilts   824 

Hogg,  James 

Love  is  Like  a  Dizziness  ...  218 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell 

CEstivation   849 

Ballad  of  the  Oysterman,  The  583 

Cacoethes    Scribendi     238 

Contentment     238 

■    The  Deacon's  Masterpiece   . .  580 
Familiar     Letter     to     Several 

Correspondents,    A     36 

Height     of     the     Ridiculous, 

The     38 

Ode  for  a  Social  Meeting  . .  833 

Our   Hymn    374 

To     the     Portrait     of     "A 

Gentleman "     236 

Hood,  Thomas 

Bachelor's  Dream,   The   ....  342 

Ben   Bluff    619 

Death's    Ramble     801 

Faithless  Nellie  Gray   797 

Faithless  Sally  Brown    792 

No!    792 

Nocturnal   Sketch,   A    823 

Parental     Ode     to    my     Son 
Aged     Three     Years     and 

Five  Months,  A   941 

Sally  Simpkin's  Lament  ....  800 

Tim     Turpin     795 

To    Minerva    49 

Hood,   Thomas.   Jr. 

In  Memoriam  Technicam  ...  413 

Takings     817 

Wedding,   The    412 

Hook,  Theodore 

Cautionary  Verses 828 

HovEY,  Richard 

Barney  McGee   721 

Hunt,    Leigh 
Jovial     Priest's     Confession, 

The     834 

Nun,  The 206 

Huntley,  Stanley 

Annabel    Lee    497 


PAGE 

Ingoldsby,     Thomas     \.See 
Richard  Harris  Barham] 

Irwin,  Wallace 

Blow    Me    Eyes!     115 

Constant     Cannibal     Maiden, 

The     194 

Grain  of  Salt,  A    241 

Jenks,   Tudor 

Old  Bachelor,  An   98 

Johnson,   Burges 

Why  Doth  a  Pussy  Cat?  ...     895 
Johnson.  Hilda 

Quest    of    the    Purple    Cow, 

The 100 

Johnson.    Rossiter 

Ninety-nine  in  the  Shade  ...     781 
Johnson,    Samuel 

If  the    Man    949 

Johnston,  William 

On    the    Downtown    Side    of 

an  Uptown  Street   79 

Johnstone,    Henry 

Fastidious    Serpent,    The    . .     887 
Jones,    Dean 

On  the   Democracy   of   Yale    949 
Jonson,  Ben 

Answer  to  Master  Wither's 
Song.  "  Shall  I,  Wasting 
in    Despair?"     526 

Cupid    211 

To   Doctor   Empiric    365 

Keats,  John 

Portrait,   A    496 

Kerr,    Orpheus    \See   Rob- 
ert H.  Newell] 

King,  Ben 

How  Often   489 

If  I  Should  Die  To-night...     489 
Pessimist,   The    358 

Kingsley.  Charles 
Oubit,    The     330 

Kipling,   Rudyard 

Commonplaces 427 

Divided    Destinies    904 

Study  of  an  Elevation,  in 
Indian     Ink     226 

Knight,  Henry  Coggswell 
Lunar  Stanzas 841 

Lamb,  Charles 

Farewell   to   Tobacco,   A    ...     726 
Nonsense   Verses   848 

Lampton,  W.  J. 
New   Persion.   The    90 

Landor,   Walter   Savage 

Honey  moon.    The    366 

Gifts    Returned    198 

Lang,  Andrew 

Ballad  of  the  Primitive  Jest       T2 
Double    Ballad    of    Primitive 
Man     331 

Langbridge.   Frederick 
Quite  By  Chance 205 

Lanigan.  George  Thomas 
Ahkoond   of   Swat,   The    ...     710 
Dirge  of  the  Moolla  of  Kotal    7x2 


960 


Index  of  Authors 


PAGE 

Lear,  Edward 

Ahkoond  of  Swat,  The 708 

Jumbles.   The 862 

New  Vestments,   The   866 

Owl  and  the  Pussy  Cat,  The  901 
Pobble   Who   Has   No   Toes, 

The     865 

Two   Old    Bachelors,   The    ..  868 

Yongby-Bonghy-Bo,  The 859 

Leigh,  Henry  S. 

Cossimbazar     8143 

Maud     188 

My  Love  and  My  Heart    . .  204 

Nursery   Legend,  A    937 

Only  Seven   543 

Romanunt  of  Humpty  Dump- 

ty.    The    41 1 

'Twas   Ever  Thus   544 

Twins,  The   108 

Leland,  Charles  Godfrey 

Ballad  of  Charity,  A   613 

Ballad  of  Hans  Breitmann..  669 

Hans  Breitmann's  Party   ...  668 
Legend  of  Heinz  Von  Stein, 

The    49 

Lemke,  E. 

Rhyme  of  Musicians,   A   ...  772 

Lemon,   Mark 
How    to    Make    a    Man    of 

Consequence    280 

Lessing  , 

Mendax    VA-'.',*  3^9 

To  a  Slow  Walker  and  Quick 

Eater     369 

Lever,  Charles 

Pope,     The 7o 

Widow  Malone,   The   120 

LiNDESAY,  Sir  David 
Carman's  Account  of  a  Law 

Suit.   A 807 

Locker-Lampson,  Frederick 

Circumstance     444 

Mrs.    Smith     i55 

My  Mistress's  Boots I53 

On  a  Sense  of  Humor   3o7 

Some  Ladies   367 

Susan Ill 

Terrible  Infant,  A 156 

Loines,    Russell   Milliard 

On  a  Magazine  Sonnet    281 

LooMis.  Charles  Battell 

o-u-g-h  ...•..•••••.• 7,; 

Propinquity   Needed    51 

Song  of  Sorrow.  A   300 

LoRiNG.  Fred  W. 

Fair    Millinger,    The    180 

Lovelace,  Richard 

Song     ^41 

Lover,   Samuel         .  ,     —  q 

Birth  of   Saint  Patrick,   The  58 

Father    Malloy 307 

How  to  Ask  and  Have i»i 

Lanty    Leary     208 

Paddy  O'Rafther   S7\ 

Quaker's    Meeting,    The    ...  57o 
Rory      O'More;      or.      Good 

Omens     ^41 

Lowell,  James  Russell 

Candidate's    Creed,   The    ...  294 

Courtin',    The    "o 


page 

What   Mr.    Robinson   Thinks  292 

Without   and   Within    359 

Ludlow,  Fitz  Hugh 

Too    Late 348 

LUMMIS,   C.   F. 

Poe-'em  of  Passion,  A  ....  532 
Lysaght,    Edward 

Kitty  of  Coleraine 130 


Mackay,   Charles 

Bachelor's    Mono- Rhyme,    A    817 
Cynical     Ode    to    an     Ultra- 
Cynical   Public    339 

Mackintosh,  Newton 

Lucy   Lake    463 

Optimism     445 

Pessimism     33° 

Macy,  Arthur  ^, 

Rollicking  Mastodon,  The  ..     853 
Maginn,  William 

Irishman  and  the  Lady,  The     742 
St.    Patrick,  of   Ireland,   My 

Dear!     lo^ 

Marquis,  Don 

For  I  Am  Sad 379 

Lilies      379 

Marriott,  John 

Devonshire  Lane,  The 266 

Masson,  Tom 

Kiss,    The     109 

Maxwell,  J.  C.  * 

Rigid  Body  Sings   403 

Mayhew,  Horace 
Travesty  of  Miss  Fanshawe  s 

Enigma     7^3 

Manage,  Gilles 

Happy  Man,  The 814 

Merivale,  Herman  C. 

Datwinity     409 

Town  of  Nice,  The   438 

Miller,  Alice  Duer 

If  They  Meant  All  They  Said     247 
Miller,  Joaquin 
That  Gentle  Man  From  Bos- 

ton    Town 629 

That  Texan  Cattle  Man    ...     288 
William    Brown    of    Oregon     653 
Milne,  A.  A. 

From  a  Full  Heart   3i 

Milton,  John 

On    the    Oxford    Carrier    ..     780 
Mix,  Parmenas 

Accepted    and    Will    Appear     268 

He   Came  to  Pay    447 

Moore.  Augustus  M. 

Ballade   of    Ballade-Mongers, 

A     •• 441 

Moore,  Clement  Clarke 

Visit    from    St.    Nicholas,    A     935 
Moore,  Thomas 

If  you  Have  Seen 444 

Lying    86 

Of  All  the  Men    37° 

On  Taking  a  Wife   ........     367 

Upon  Being  Obliged  to  Leave 

a   Pleasant   Party    ...•••;     307 
What's    My    Thought    Like?     370 


Index  of  Authors 


961 


PAGE 

Morgan,  Bessie 

'Specially  Jim   129 

Morris,  Captain  C. 

Contrast,    The     265 

Morris,  George  Pope 

Retort,    The    i74 

MoTTEUx,  Peter  A. 

Rondelay,     A     41 

MoxoN,  Frederick 

All    at    Sea     70 

MUNKITTRICK,     R.     K. 

Unsatisfied   Yearning    889 

What's  in  a  Name? 347 

Winter    Dusk    42 

Nack,  James 
Here    She    Goes    and    There 
She    Goes    572 

Nairne,  Lady 
The  Laird  o'  Cockpen 703 

Newell,    Robert    H.    [Or- 
pheus C.  Kerr] 
American    Traveller,    The    . .      757 

Editor's    Wooing,    The    389 

Great   Fight.    A    697 

Rejected  "  National  Hymns  " 
The    387 

O'Keefe,  John 

Friar  of  Orders  Gray,  The..     282 
O'Leary,  Cormac 

Reflections    on    Cleopathera's 

Needle      105 

O'Reilly,  John  Boyle 

Constancy     137 

Osborn,  Selleck 

Modest   Wit,   A    260 

OuTRAM,  George 

Annuity,    The 350 

On  Hearing  a  Lady  Praise  a 
Certain  Rev.  Doctor's  Eyes     368 

Pain,  Barry 

Bangkolidye 334 

Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam..  404 

Oh !    Weary   Mother    000 

Poets  at  Tea,  The   486 

Paine,  Albert   Bigelow 

Mis'    Smith    119 

Sary     "  F'ixes     Up  "    Things  192 

Palmer,   E.   H. 

Parterre,    The    180 

Shipwreck,    The     876 

Palmer,  William  Pitt 

Smack   in   School,    The    128 

Parke,  Walter 

Foam  and  Fangs 544 

His     Mother-in-Law      75 

My    Madeline     773 

Vague  Story,  A   74 

Young   Gazelle    918 

Paull,  H.  M. 

Eastern  Question,  An   598 

Peck,  Samuel  Minturn 

Bessie    Brown,    M.D 120 

Kiss  in  the   Rain,   A    123 

Pelham.   M. 

Comical  Girl,  The   946 

Perry,   Nora 

Love   Knot,   The    124 


PAGE 

Philips,    Barclay 
Polka    Lyric,    A    832 

Philips.  John 

Splendid   Shilling,    The    316 

Pigott,  Mostyn  T. 
Hundred     Best     Books,     The     769 

Planch^,  J.  R. 
Song     99 

Pontalais,  Jehan   du 

Money     323 

Pope,  Alexander 

Fool    and   the   Poet,   The    ..     363 

Ruling    Passion,    The    285 

To  a  Blockhead   362 

PoRSON,  Richard 

Dido     366 

Nothing 786 

Porter,   H.  H. 

Forty  Years  After   210 

Praed,  Winthrop  Mackworth 
Belle   of   the    Ball,    The    ...      171 
Song  of  Impossibilities,  A   . .     327 

Pratt,  Florence  E. 
Courting  in  Kentucky 168 

Prior,  Matthew 

Epitaph,    An    765 

Phillis's    Age     332 

Remedy     Worse     Than     the 

Disease,    A    365 

Simile,    A    262 

Proudfit,  David  Law 
Prehistoric  Smith   83 

Prout.  Father 
Malbrouck    28 

.  Sabine     Farmer's     Serenade, 

The    214 

Ramal,  Walter 
Bunches  of  Grapes    947 

Rands,  W.  B. 
Clean  Clara    283 

Riley,  James  Whitcomb 

Little  Orphant  Annie    934 

Lugubrious        Whing-Whang, 

The    858 

Man  in  the  Moon,  The 856 

Old  Man  and  Jim,  The 678 

Prior  to  Miss  Belle's  Appear- 
ance         925 

Spirk   Throll-Derisive    855 

When    the    Frost    Is    on    the 

Punkin    34 

Robertson,  Harrison      •' 
Kentucky    Philosophy    325 

Robinson,  Edwin  Arlington 

Miniver  Cheevy    229 

Two    Men    35 

Roche,  James  Jeffrey 

Boston  Lullaby,  A  240 

Lament   of    the"  Scotch    Irish 

Exile    385 

Sailor's  Yam,  A    680 

V-A-S  E,  The   zz-j 

Rodger,  Alexander 
Behave  Yoursel'   Before  Folk     174 

RoMAiNE,  Harry 
Unattainable,   The    141 

Ropes,  Arthur  Reed 
Lost  Pleiad,  The   i6i 


962 


Index  of  Authors 


PAGE 

Russell,  Irwin 

First  Banjo,  The   672 

Sancta-Clara,  a  Abraham 
St.  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the 

Fishes    251 

Saxe,  John  G. 

Comic  Miseries 42 

Early    Rising    44 

Echo     750 

Rhyme  of  the  Rail 748 

Sonnet  to  a  Clam 734 

Woman's  Will 362 

Sawyer,    William 

"  Caudal  "  Lecture,  A 92 

Cremation     534 

Turvey  Top   884 

Scollard,    Clinton 

Ballade  of  the  Golfer  in  Love  222 
Noureddin,    the    Son    of    the 

Shah     199 

Scott,  Sir  Walter 

Herring,   The    949 

Nora's  \^ow   159 

Seaman,  Owen 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Cock  ....  414 

Of  Baiting  the  Lion    893 

Plea    for  Trigamy,  A    68 

Presto    Furioso    417 

To  Julia  in   Shooting  Togs..  418 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley 

Literary  Lady,  The 278 

Wife,  A    366 

Shults,  George  Francis 

Under  the  Mistletoe   196 

Sibley,  Charles 

Plaidie,    The    190 

Sidney.  James  A. 

Irish  Schoolmaster,  The  ....  103 

Sims,  George  R. 

By    Parcels    Post zdz 

Smith,  Harry  B. 

"I  Didn't  Like  Him" 157 

My    Angeline     158 

Same   Old    Story    360 

Smith,  Horace 
Gouty      Merchant      and      the 

Stranger,    The    563 

Jester    Condemned    to    Death, 

The     578 

Smith,  James 

Baby's  Debut,  The   390 

Surnaiies 804 

Smith,  Sydney 

Salad 93 

Southey.    Robert 

Battle  of   Blenheim,  The    . . .  252 

Cataract   of  Lodore,  The   . . .  743 

Devil's   Walk   on    Earth,   The  298 

March  to  Moscow,  The 775 

Pig,  The  914 

Well  of  St.  Keyne,  The  ....  584 

Stanton,    Frank    Libby 

How  to  Eat   Watermelons   . .  73 

Stephen,  James  Kenneth 

Cynicus    to    W.    Shakespeare  362 

Last  Ride  Together,  The    ...  431 

Millennium,   The    60 

School    60 

Senex  to   Matt.   Prior   362 

Thought,    A     248 


page 
Stevens,  H.   P. 

Why    214 

Street,  Julian  \with  James 

Montgomery  FlaggJ 

Said   Opie   Reed    948 

Stvart,  Alaric  Bertrand 

Jim-Jam    King    of    the    Jou- 

jous,  The    851 

Stuart,   Ruth  McEnery 

Endless  Song,  The 768 

Hen-Roost   Man,  The    247 

Suckling,  Sir  John 

Out   Upon   It    218 

Wedding,    A    704 

Swift,  Dean 

Gentle    Echo   On   Woman,    A     752 

Twelve  Articles 279 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles 

Higher  Pantheism  in  a  Nut- 
shell,   The    458 

Nephelidia     459 

Up  the  Spout 460 

Taber,  Harry  Parsons 
Jaberwocky  of   Authors,   The     437 

Taylor,   Bayard 
Angelo  Orders  His  Dinner..     428 

Camerados    430 

Cantelope,  The    393 

Hiram    Hover    113 

Palabras  Grandiosas    407 

Promissory  Note,  The 429 

Taylor,   Bert   Leston 

Bygones    383 

Farewell    419 

Old  Stuff   48 

Post-Impressionism 235 

Tennyson,  Lord 

Goose,  The 611 

Northern  Farmer   354 

Thackeray,  W.  M. 
Ballad    of    Bouillabaisse,    The     714 

Crystal  Palace,  The 547 

Little  Billee    546 

Old   Fashioned   Fun   33 

Sorrows  of  Werther,  The  ...      140 

Tragic  Story,  A 850 

When      Moonlike      Ore      the 

Hazure  Seas    34 

Willow-Tree,  The   439 

Wofle  New  Ballad  of  Jane 
Roney  and  Mary  Brown, 
The 552 

Thayer.  Ernest  Lawrence 
Casey  at  the  Bat  601 

Thompson,   D'Arcy  W. 
Poor    Dear  Grandpapa    950 

TowNE,  Charles  Hanson 
Messed  Damozel,  The 471 

Traill,  H.  D. 
After  Dilettante  Concetti   . . .     474 

Trowbridge,   John   Townsend 
Darius    Green    and    His    Fly- 
ing-Machine         690 

Turner,  Eliza  Sproat 
Little   Goose,   A    938 

Turner.  Godfrey 

Love  Playnt,   A    408 

Tytler,   James 
I    Hae    Laid    a    Herring    in 
Saul     216 


Index  of  Authors 


963 


PAGE 

Untermeyer,  Louis 

Owen  Seaman   480 

Robert   Frost    479 

Vandyne,   Mary   E. 

The  Bald-headed  Tyrant 720 

Villon.  Francois 

All   Things    Except   Myself   I 
Know   343 

Wake,  William  Basil 
Saying  Not  Meaning 666 

Ward,  Artemus  [See  Charles 
Farrar   Browne] 

Ware,  Eugene  Fitch 

He  and  She 109 

Manila 949 

Siege   of    Djklxprwbz,   The. .       96 

Warren,  George  F. 
Lord  Guy  191 

Waterman.   Nixon 
If  We  Didn't  Have  to  Eat  ..       57 

Weatherly,   Frederic   E. 

Bird  in  the  Hand,  A 170 

Thursday     313 

Usual  Way,  The 200 

Webb,  Charles  Henry 
Little  Mamma   943 

Wells,  Carolyn 
Diversions    of    the     Re-Echo 

Club     515 

Limericks 835 

Styx  River  Anthology 521 

West,  Paul 
Cumberbunce,  The    844 

Wesley,  Rev.  Samuel 
On   Butler's  Monument    ....      370-. 


PAGE 

Witcher,  Frances  M. 

K.  K.— Can't  Calculate 353 

Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Snif- 
fles           195 

White,   Harriet   R. 

Uffia    877 

Whittier,  John  Greenleaf 

Skipper  Ireson's  Ride   688 

Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler 

Pin,    A    132 

WiLDGOOSE,    OsCURO 

More    Impressions    509 

WlLKIE,    A.    C. 

Old    Song    By    New    Singers, 

An    506 

Willis.  N.   P. 

Declaration,  The 446 

WiLLSON,  Arabella 
Appeal   for  Are  to  the    Sex- 
tant    of     the     Old     Brick 

Meetinouse,    A    66 

WoLCOT,  John 

Actor,    The    287 

Pilgrims   and    the    Peas,    The     621 

Razor   Seller,   The    297 

To   a  Fly   734 

Yates,  Edmund 

All-Saints     280 

Ybarra,  Thomas  R. 

Lay  of  Ancient  Rome 753 

Little    Swirl    of    Vers    Libre, 
A    380 

Ode   to    Work   in    Springtime       47 
Yriarte,  Tomaso  de 

Musical  Ass,   The    249 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

PAGE 

A  brace  of  sinners,  for  no  good 621 

A  brow  austere,  a  circumspective  eye 280 

A  captain  bold  from  Halifax  who  dwelt  in  country  quarters 702 

A  cat  I  sing,  of  famous  memory   833 

A  country  curate  visiting  his  flock , 287 

A  district  school,   not   far  away 128 

A  fellow  in  a  market  town 297 

A  fellow  near  Kentuck's  clime 494 

A  fig  for  St.  Denis  of  France loi 

A  friend  of  mine  was  married  to  a  scold 264 

A  hindoo  died — a  happy  thing  to  do 281 

A  knight  and  a  lady  once  met  in  a  grove 270 

A  little  peach  in  the  orchard  grew 93 1 

A  little  saint  best  fits  a  little  shrine 806 

A  lively  young  turtle  lived  down  by  the  banks 923 

A  lovely  young  lady  I  mourn  in  my  rhymes 366 

A  maiden  once,  of  certain  age 169 

A  man  of  words  and  not  of  deeds 790 

A  man  said  to  the  universe 248 

A  man  sat  on  a  rock  and  sought 83 

A  Persian  penman  named  Aziz 810 

A  Poet's  Cat,  sedate  and  grave 910 

A  quiet  home  had  Parson  Gray 74i 

A  rollicking   Mastodon    lived   in    Spain 853 

A  Russian  sailed  over  the  blue  Black  Sea 374 

A  shabby  fellow  chanced  one  day  to  meet 287 

A  soldier  and  a  sailor 179 

A  soldier  of  the  Russians 90 

A  speech,  both  pithy  and  concise 61 

A  street  there  is  in  Paris  famous 714 

A  supercilious  nabob  of  the  East 260 

A  tailor,  a  man  of  an  upright  dealing 322 

A  traveller  wended  the  wilds  among 576 

A  well  there  is  in  the  west  country 584 

A  whale  of  great  porosity 916 

A  woman  is  like  to — but  stay 118 

A  xylographer  started  to  cross  the  sea 759 

A  young  man  once  was  sitting 394 

Across  the  sands  of   Syria 888 

Ah !  Matt,  old  age  has  brought  to  me 362 

Ah,  Night !  blind  germ  of  days  to  be 484 

Ah !  poor  intoxicated  little  knave 734 

Ah,  those  hours  when  by-gone  sages 779 

Ah !  who  has  seen  the  mailed  lobster  rise 882 

Ah !  why  those  piteous  sounds  of  woe 449 

Alas,  unhappy  land ;   ill-fated  spot 712 

All  day  she  hurried  to  get  through 119 

All  smatterers  are  more  brisk  and  pert 365 

Alone   I   sit   at  eventide 53 

An  ancient  story  I'll  tell  you  anon 554 

An  Austrian  Archduke,  assaulted  and  assailed 829 

An  Austrian  army,  awfully  array'd 813 

An  igstrawnary  tail  I  vill  tell  you  this  week 552 

966 


966  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

And  so  our  royal  relative  was  dead ! 737 

And  this  reft  house  is  that  the  which  he  built 407 

"Are  women  fair?"     Ay,  wondrous  fair  to  see,  too 189 

As  a  friend  to  the  children  commend  me  the  yak 906 

As  beautiful  Kitty  one  morning  was  tripping 130 

As  I  was  walkin'  the  jungle  round,  a-killin'  of  tigers  an'  time  . .  426 

As  long  as  I  dwell  on  some  stupendous 60 

As  wet  as  a  fish — as  dry  as  a  bone 791 

Ask  me  no  more :  I've  had  enough  Chablis 534 

At  a  pleasant  evening  party  I  had  taken  down  to  supper 635 

At   morning's   call 374 

Baby's  brain  is  tired  of  thinking 240 

Back  in  the  years  when  Phlagstaff,  the  Dane,  was  monarch  ....  387 

Barney  McGee,  there's  no  end  of  good  luck  in  you 721 

Basking  in  peace  in  the  warm  spring  sun 674 

Be    brave,    faint   heart 445 

Be  kind  and  tender  to  the  Frog 907 

Be  kind  to  the  panther !  for  when  thou  wert  young 890 

Beauties,  have  ye  seen  this  toy 211 

Before   a  Turkish   town 96 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk 174 

Ben  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold 797 

Ben  Bluff  was  a  whaler,  and  many  a  day 619 

Beside  a  Primrose  'broider'd  Rill 139 

Between  Adam  and  me  the  great  difference  is 367 

Between  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose 82 

Blind  Thamyris,  and  blind  Maeonides 784 

"  Bon   jour,    Madame   Sans    Souci 950 

Bright  breaks  the  warrior  o'er  the  ocean  wave 879 

Brisk  methinks  I   am,  and   fine -jtz 

"  Bunches  of  grapes,"  says  Timothy -. 947 

By  the  side  of  a  murmuring  stream  an  elderly  gentleman  sat.  . .  .  665 

Bye    Baby    Bunting 324 

Calm    and   implacable 375 

*'  Can  you  spare  a  Threepenny  bit 901 

Careless  rhymer,  it  is  true 185 

Celestine  Silvousplait  Justine  de  Mouton  Rosalie 51 

Charm  is  a  woman's  strongest  arm 247 

Chilly  Dovebber  with  his  boadigg  blast 747 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nailed  fast 909 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "  at  your  time  of  life 367 

Come !  fill  a  fresh  bumper. — for  why  should  we  go 833 

Come  fleetly,  come  fleetly,  my  hooksbadar 843 

"  Come  here,  my  boy ;  hould  up  your  head 103 

Come  hither,  my  heart's  darling 454 

Come  into  the  Whenceness  Which 476 

"Come,  listen,  my  men,  while  I  tell  you  again 676 

Come  mighty   Must ! 376 

Comrades,  you  may  pass  the  rosy.    With  permission  of  the  chair  537 

De   Hen-roost   Man  he'll   preach  about  Paul 247 

Dear  maid,   let   me   speak 810 

Dear  mother,  dear  mother,  the  Church  is  cold 269 

Dear  Thomas,  didst  thou  never  pop 262 

Delmonico's  is  where  he   dines zdj 

Der  Kaiser  of  dis  Faterland 291 

Der  noble   Ritter   Hugo 669 

Did  you  hear  of  the  Widow  Malone .  126 

Dighton  is  engaged  !     Think  of  it  and  tremble ! 647 

Do  not  worry  if  I  scurry  from  the  grill  room  in  a  hurry 67 

Do  you  know  why  the  rabbits  are  caught  in  the  snare 214 

Do  you  think  I'll  marry  a  woman 817 

Doe,    doe  ! 746 

Dosn't  thou  'ear  my  'erse's  legs,  as  they  canters  awaay? 354 

Down   in   the   silent   hallway 889 


Index  of  First  Lines  967 

PAGE 

Easy  is  the  triolet 782 

Echo,  tell  me,  while  I  wander 751 

Even  is  come ;  and  from  the  dark  Park,  hark 823 

Everywhere,  everywhere,   following  me 430 

Exquisite    wines    and    comestibles 316 

Far  off  in  the  waste  of  desert  sand 851 

Far,  oh,  far  is  the  Mango  island 194 

"  Farewell !  "     Another  gloomy  word 419 

Felis   Infelix   Cat   unfortunate 736 

First  there's  the   Bible 769 

For  his  religion  it  was  fit. 271 

From  Arranmore  the  weary  miles  I've  come 378 

From  his  brimstone  bed  at  break  of  day 298 

From  the  depth  of  the  dreamy  decline  of  the  dawn  through 459 

From  the  madding  crowd  they  stand  apart. 227 

From  the  tragic-est  novels  at  Mudie's 144 

"  Gentle,  modest  little  flower 28 

"  Gimme  my  scarlet  tie," 334 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 483 

Gineral  B.  is  a  sensible  man. 292 

Given  a  roof,  and  a  taste  for  rations 311 

Go  and  catch  a  falling  star 330 

Go  'way,  fiddle;   folks  is  tired  o'  hearin'  you  a-squawkin' 672 

•"  God  bless  the  King !     God  bless  the  faith's  defender  ! 368 

"  God  bless  the  man  who  first  invented  sleep !  " 44 

God  makes  sech  nights,  all  white  an'   still no 

Good  Luck  is  the  gayest  of  all  gay  girls 334 

Good  people  all,  of  every  sort 764 

Good  people  all,  with  one  accord 740 

Good  reader !  if  you  e'er  have  seen 444 

"  Had  Cain  been  Scot,  God  would  have  changed  his  doom 369 

Half  a  bar,  half  a  bar 528 

Hamelin   Town's   in    Brunswick 603 

Handel.    Bendel,    Mendelssohn tj2 

Hans  Breitmann  gife  a  barty 668 

Happy  the  man,  who,  void  of  cares  and  strife 316 

Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss  shay 580 

He  cannot  be  complete  in  aught 367 

He  dropt  a  tear  on  Susan's  bier 157 

He   dwelt   among   "  Apartments   let," 491 

He  girded  on  his  shining  sword 100 

He  is  too  weet  a  melancholy  carle 496 

He  killed  the  noble   Mudjokivis 482 

He  lived  in  a  cave  by  the  seas 331 

He  stood  on  his  head  by  the  wild  seashore 75 

He  thought  he   saw   an    Elephant 874 

He  took  her  fancy  when   he  came 817 

He  was  the  chairman  of  the  Guild 244 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said 159 

Her  heart  she  locked  fast  in  her  breast 209 

Her  little  feet !  .   .   .  Beneath  us  ranged  the  sea 59 

Her  washing  ended  with  the  day 494 

Here  lies  my  wife :  here  let  her  lie  1 368 

Here  lieth  one,  who  did  not  most  truly  prove 780 

Here's  to  the  town  of  New  Haven 949 

Hi !     Just  you  drop  that !     Stop,   I  say  ! 460 

His  eye  was  stern  and  wild — his  cheek  was  pale  and  cold  as  clay  450 

History,  and  nature,  too,  repeat  themselves,  they  say 360 

How    do    the   daughters 533 

"  How  does  the  water 743 

How  hard,  when  those  who  do  not  wish 818 

How  old  may  Philis  be,  you  ask 332 

How  uneasy  is  his  life 344 

Hyder   iddle   didle   dell 879 


968  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

Hypocrisy  will  serve  as  well 365 

am 900 

am  a  friar  of  orders  gray 2S2 

am  an  ancient  Jest ! 72 

come  from  good  old  Boston 949 

am  a  hearthrug 377 

am  a  lone,  unfeathered  chick 903 

am  numb  from  world-pain 380 

Angelo,  obese,  black-garmented 428 

asked  of  Echo,  t'other  day 750 

cannot  praise  the  doctor's  eyes 368 

cannot  sing  the  old  songs 413 

cannot  tell  you  how  I  love 235 

couldn't  help  weeping  with  delight 521 

count  it  true  which  sages  teach 413 

devise  to  end  my  days — in  a  tavern  drinking 834 

du   believe   in   Freedom's   cause 294 

do  confess,  in  many  a  sigh 86 

don't  go  much  on  religion 657 

don't   know   any   greatest   treat 180 

dreamed  a  cVeam  next  Tuesday  week 853 

dwells  in  the  Hearth,  and  I  breathes  in  the  Hair 763 

gaed  to  spend  a  week  in  Fife 350 

hae   laid   a   herring   in    saut 216 

haf  von  funny  leedle  poy 940 

have  a  bookcase,  which   is  what, 40 

have  a  copper  penny  and  another  copper  penny 809 

have  felt  the  thrill  of  passion  in  the  poet's  mystic  book 32 

have  found  out  a  gig-gig-gift  for  my  fuf-fuf-fair 822 

have  made  me  an  end  of  the  moods  of  maidens 511 

have  watch'd  thee  with  rapture,  and  dwelt  on  thy  charms....  456 

knew  an  old  wife  lean  and  poor 611 

know  not  of  what  we  ponder'd 63 

know  when  milk  does  flies  contain 343 

lately  lived  in  quiet  ease 218 

lay  i'   the  bosom   of  the   sun 407 

love  my  lady  with  a  deep  purple  love 383 

love  thee,   Mary,  and  thou  lovest  me 206 

I   love  you.  my  lord  !  " 120 

marvell'd  why  a  simple  child 543 

may  as  well 685 

never  rear'd  a  young  gazelle 544 

never  saw  a  Purple  Cow 948 

I  never  saw  a  purple  cow 515 

recollect  a  nurse  call'd  Ann 156 

remember,  I  remember 107 

reside  at  Table  Mountain,  and  my  name  is  Truthful  James. . . .  650 

said,  "  This  horse,  sir,  will  you  shoe?  " 809 

sat  one  night  beside  a  blue-eyed  girl 207 

saw  a  certain  sailorman  who  sat  beside  the  sea 70 

saw  a  peacock  with  a  fiery  tail 804 

sent  for  Ratcliffe ;  was  so   ill 365 

sent  my  love  a  parcel ' 262 

shall   not  ask  Jean  Jacques   Rousseau 212 

sometimes    think    I'd    rather    crow 891 

strolled  beside  the  shining  sea 844 

tell  thee,   Dick,   where  I   have  been 704 

walked  and  came  upon   a  picket  fence 470 

was  in  Margate  last  July.  I  walk'd  upon  the  pier 558 

wonder  what  your  thoughts  are,  little  cloud 134 

would  all  womankind  were  dead 88 

would  flee  from  the  city's  rule  and  law 883 

would  that  all  men  my  hard  case  might  know 397 

wrote  some  lines  once  on  a  time 38 


Index  of  First  Lines  969 

PAGE 

I  wus  mighty  good-lookin'  when  I  was  young 129 

I  yearn  to  bite  on  a  Colloid 91 

I'd  Never   Dare  to  Walk   across 855 

I'd  read  'three  hours.  Both  notes  and  text 142 

If  all  be  true  that  I  do  think 364 

If  all  the  harm  women  have  done 248 

If  all  the  land  were  apple-pie 951 

If  all  the  trees  in  all  the  woods  were  men 238 

If  down  his  throat  a  man  should  choose 844 

If  e'er  my  rhyming  be  at  fault 55 

If  ever  there  lived  a  Yankee  lad 690 

If  I  go  to  see  the  play' 48 

If  I   should   die  to-night 489 

If  I  were  thine,  I'd  fail  not  of  endeavour 345 

If  I  were  you,  when  ladies  at  the  play,  Sir 146 

If,  in  the  month  of  dark  December 80 

If  life  were  never  bitter 436 

If  the  man  who  turnips  cries 949 

If  there  is  a  vile,  pernicious 60 

If  thou  wouldst  stand  on  Etna's  burning  brow 445 

If  we  square  a  lump  of  pemmican 880 

If  you  become  a  nun,   dear 206 

I'll  sing  you  a  song,  not  very  long 275 

I'll  tell  thee  everything  I  can 870 

I'm   taught   p-1-o-u-g-h 761 

I'm  thankful  that  the  sun  and  moon 882 

"  Immortal    Newton    never    spoke 369 

In  a  church  which  is  furnish'd  with  mullion  and  gable,  1 280 

In  a  Devonshire  lane  as  I  trotted  along 266 

In  all  thy  humors,  whether  grave  or  mellow 368 

In  an  ocean,   'way  out  yonder 929 

In  Ballades  things  always  contrive  to  get  lost 441 

In   Broad   Street   Buildings  on   a  winter  night 563 

In  candent  ire  the  solar  splendour  flames 849 

In  days  of  peace  my  fellow-men 3 1 1 

In  early  youth,  as  you  may  guess 918 

In    form    and   feature,    face   and    limb 108 

In  heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell 472 

In  his  chamber,  weak  and  dying 785 

In   Koln,  a  town  of  monks  and  bones 363 

In   letters   large   upon   the    frame 347 

In  London  I  never  know  what  I'd  be  at 265 

In  our  hearts  is  the  Great  One  of  Avon 824 

In  the  age  that  was  golden,  the  halcyon  time 338 

In  the  "  Foursome  "  some  would  fain 222 

In  the  lonesome  latter  years 429 

In  these  days  of  indigestion 77 

"  In  winter,  when  the  fields  are  white 872 

Inglorious  friend !  most  confident  I  am 734 

Interred  beneath  this  marble  stone 765 

Is  moss-prankt  dells  which  the  sunbeams  flatter 372 

It  is  told,  on  Buddhi-theosophic  schools 92 

It  is  very  aggravating 50 

It  looked  extremely  rocky  for  the  Mudville  nine  that  day 601 

It  may  be  so — perhaps  thou  hast 236 

It  once  might  have  been,  once  only 339 

It  was  a  millinger  most  gay 186 

It  was  a  Moorish  maiden  was  sitting  by  the  well 196 

It  was  a  robber's  daughter,  and  her  name  was  Alice  Brown.  .  .  .  639 

It  was  a  summer's  evening 252 

It  was  a  tall  young  oysterman  lived  by  the  river-side 583 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced  upon  a  pine 904 

It  was  a  hairy  oubit,   sac   proud   he   crept   alabg. 330 

It  was  in  a  pleasant  deepd,  sequestered  from  the  rain 613 


970  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago 532 

It  ripen'd  by  the  river  banks 444 

It  worries  me  to  beat  the  band 137 

Its   eyes   are   gray 121 

I've  been  trying  to  fashion  a  wifely  ideal 68 

Jacob !  I  do  not  like  to  see  thy  nose 914 

Jem  writes  his  verses  with  more  speed 363 

Jim  Bowker,  he  said,  if  he'd  had  a  fair  show 357 

John  Alcohol,  my  foe,  John 529 

John  Bull  for  pastime  took  a  prance 808 

John  Gilpin  was  a  citizen  of  credit  and  renqwn 564 

John  Grumlie   Swore  by  the  light  o'  the  moon 326 

Just   take   a  trifling  handful,   O   philosopher.... 314 

Kitty  wants  to  write !     Kitty  intellectual ! 646 

Knitting   is  the   maid   o*   the   kitchen,    Milly 220 

Knows    he   that   never    took   a   pinch 832 

La  Galisse  now  I  wish  to  touch 814 

Lady   Clara   Vere   de   Vere ! 412 

Lady,  I  loved  you  all  last  year 327 

Lady  mine,  most  fair  thou  art 221 

Lady,  very  fair  are  you 184 

Lanty  was  in  love,  you  see 208 

Last  year  I  trod  these  fields  with  Di 155 

Lazy-bones,  lazy-bones,  wake  up  and  peep ! 848 

Lest  it  may  more  quarrels  breed 279 

Life  and  the  Universe  show  spontaneity 315 

Life  is  a  gift  that  most  of  us  hold  dear 357 

Life  would  be  an  easy  matter 57 

Lilies,  lilies,  white  lilies  and  yellow 379 

Like  to  the  thundering  tone  of  unspoke  speeches 848 

Little    bopeepals 324 

Little  I  ask ;  my  wants  are  few 238 

Little  Orphant  Annie's  come  to  our  house  to  stay 934 

Little  Penelope  Socrates 284 

Lives  there  a  man  with  a  soul  so  dead 786 

Long  by  the  willow-trees 439 

Lord  Erskine,  at  women  presuming  to  rail 366 

Malbrouck,   the  prince  of   commanders 28 

Man   is   for  woman   made 41 

Many  a  long,  long  year  ago 664 

Margarita  first  possess'd 176 

Marry.  I  lent  mv  gossip  my  mare,  to  fetch  home  coals 807 

Mary  had  a  little  lamb 506 

Matilda  Maud  Mackenzie  frankly  hadn't  any  chin 395 

May  the  Babylonish  curse 726 

Men,  Dying,  make  their  wills,  but  wives 362 

Men  once  were  surnamed  for  their  shape  or  estate 804 

'Mid  pleasures  and  palaces  though  we  may  roam 498 

Miniver  Cheevy,  child  of  scorn 229 

Mona  Lisa,    Mona  Lisa  ! 95 

Miss  Flora  McFlimsey,  of  Madison  Square 148 

Mr.  Finney  had  a  turnip 847 

My  brother  Jack  was  nine  in  May 39° 

My  coachman,  in  the  moonlight  there 359 

My  curse  upon  you  venom'd  stang 724 

My  dear  young  friend,  whose  shining  wit 42 

My  feet,  they  haul  me  Round  the  House 855 

My  Heart  will  break — I'm  sure  it  will 183 

My  lank  limp  lily,  my  long  lithe  lily 510 

My  little  dears,  who  learn  to  read,  pray  early,  learn  to  shun. . . .   828 

My   Love  has  sicklied  unto   Loath 410 

My  Madeline  !  my  Madeline  ! Tjz 

My  passion   is  as  mustard  strong 754 

My  pipe  is  lit,  my  grog  is  mixed 34a 


Index  of  First  Lines  971 

PAGE 

My  temples  throb,  my  pulses  boil 49 

My  William  was  a  soldier,  and  he  says  to  me,  says  he 598 

Mysterious  Nothing !  how  shall  I  define . 786 

Nay,  I  cannot  come  into  the  garden  just  now 188 

"  Needy   Knife-grinder !   whither  are  you  going? 249 

Night  saw  the  crew  like  pedlars  with  their  packs 841 

No   fault   in    women,   to   refuse 1 66 

No  longer,  O  scholars,  shall  Flatus 826 

No    sun — no    moon  ! 792 

No  usual  words  can  bear  the  woe  I  feel 379 

Nothing  to  do   but  work 358 

Now  Jake  looked  up — it  was  time  to  sup,  and  the  buckets  was 

yet  to  fill 42 1 

Now  the  Widow  Mcgee 165 

O  cool  in  the  summer  is  salad 436 

"  O  Crikey,  Bill !  "  she  ses  to  me,  she  ses 400 

O  for  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucumbers ! 781 

O,  if  my  love  offended  me 184 

O  lady  wake  ! — the  azure  moon 886 

O  mickle  yeuks  the  keckle  doup ? 384 

O  my  earliest  love,  who,  ere  I  number'd 116 

O   nymph  with  the  nicest  of  noses 544 

O  precious  code,  volume,  tome 825 

O  reverend  sir,  I  do  declare 195 

O  say,  have  you  seen  at  the  willows  so  green 921 

O  Season  supposed  of  all  free  flowers 527 

O  the  quietest  home  on  earth  had  I , 720 

O  thou  wha  in  the  heavens  dost  dwell zjz 

O  what  harper  could  worthily  harp  it 64 

O'er  the  men  of  Ethiopia  she  would  pour  her  cornucopia 160 

Of  all  life's  plagues  I  recommend  to  no  man 76 

Of  all   the  girls  that   are   so   smart 182 

Of  all  the  mismated  pairs  ever  created 480 

Of  all  the  men  one  meets  about 370 

Of  all  the  rides  since  the  birth  of  time 688 

Of  all  the  wimming  doubly  blest 241 

Of  priests  we  can  offer  a  charmin'  variety 719 

Oh,  but  she  was  dark  and   shrill 509 

Oh.  dewy  was  the  morning,  upon  the  first  of  May 949 

Oh,   I  have  been  North,  and  I   have  been   South,  and  the  East 

hath   seen   me   pass 403 

Oh !  I  have  loved  thee  fondly,  ever "j^z 

Oh,  I  know  a  certain  woman  who  is  reckoned  with  the  good. ...  132 

Oh,  I  used  to   sing  a  song 768' 

Oh,   I  want  to  win   me  hame 385 

Oh  listen,  little  children,  to  a  proper  little  song 937 

Oh,  many  have  told  of  the  monkeys  of  old 913 

Oh,  Mary  had  a  little  lamb,  regarding  whose  cuticular 477 

Oh,   my   Geraldine 180 

Oh,  sing  a  song  of  phosphates 324 

Oh,  solitude  thou  wonder-working  fay 457 

Oh,  tell  me  have  you  ever  seen  a  red,  long-leg'd  Flamingo?....  894 

Oh  that  my  soul  a  marrow-bone  might  seize ! 851 

Oh,  the  days  were  ever  shiny 204 

Oh,    the    fisherman    is    a    happy    wight! 81 

Oh,  the  Roman  was  a  rogue 753 

**  Oh,  'tis  time  I  should  talk  to  your  mother i8i 

Oh,    'twas    O'Nolan    M'Figg 700 

Oh,  what  a  fund  of  joy  jocund  lies  hid  in  harmless  hoaxes!. ...  26 

"  Oh !  what  is  that  comes  gliding  in 800 

Oh,  what's  the  way  to  Arcady  ? 201 

Oh,   Wing  Tee  Wee 139 

Oh,  would  that  working  I  might  shun 47 

Oh,  yes,  we've  be'n  fixin*  some  sence  we  sold  that  piece  o*  groun'  292 


972  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

Oh!  young  Lochinvar  has  come  out  of  the  West.. 381 

Old  Grimes  is  dead  ;  that  good  old  man 766 

Old  man  never  had  much  to  say 678 

Old  Nick,  who  taught  the  village  school 174 

On  wan  dark  night  on  Lac  St.  Pierre ^ 662 

On  me  he  shall  ne'er  put  a  ring igi 

On  the  Coast  of  Goromandel 859 

On  the  downtown  side  of  an  uptown  street 79 

On  the  eighth  day  of  March  it  was,  some  people  say 58 

One  day  the   dreary  old   King  of  death 801 

One   evening   while   reclining 268 

One  morning  when  Spring  was  in  her  teens 188 

One  of  the  kings  of  Scanderoon 578 

One  stormy  morn  I  chanced  to  meet 123 

One,  who  is  not,  we  see ;  but  one,  whom  we  see  not,  is. . . 458 

Or  ever  a  lick  of  Art  was  done 383 

Out  of  the  clothes  that  cover  me 471 

Out  on  the  margin  of  moonshine  land 858 

Out  rode  from  his  wild,  dark  castle 49 

Out  upon  it,   I  have  loved 218 

Over  the  way,  over  the  way 125 

Paddy,  in  want  of  a  dinner  one  day 571 

Paddy  McCabe  was  dying  one  day 307 

Peerless  yet  hapless  maid  of  Q  ! 787 

Perchance  it  was  her  eyes  of  blue 74 

Perhaps  you  may  a-noticed  I  been  soht  o'  solemn  lately 157 

Philosophy  shows  us  'twixt  monkey  and  man 92 

Ph,  it's  H-A-P-P-Y  I  am,  and  it's  F-R-double-E 816 

Poor  Lucy  Lake  was  overgrown 463 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.E 226 

Pour    varlet,   pour   the   water 486 

Power  to   thine   elbow,   thou   newest  of  sciences 409 

Quest. — Why  is  a  pump  like  Viscount  Castlereagh? 370 

Qui   nune   dancere   vult   modo 832 

Quixotic  is  his  enterprise  and  hopeless  his  adventure  is 25 

Quoth  John  to  Joan,  will  thou  have  me 217 

Rain  on  the   face  of  the  sea 427 

Remembering  his  taste  for  blood 893 

Roll  on,  thou  ball,  roll  on  ! 256 

Rooster  her  sign 414 

Row-diddy,  dow  de,  my  little  sis 670 

Said  Opie  Read  to  E.  P.  Roe 948 

Said  the  Raggedy  Man  on  a  hot  afternoon 856 

Saint  Anthony  at  church 251 

Sally  Salter,  she  was  a  young  lady  who  taught 812 

Sam  Brown  was  a  fellow  from  way  down  East 52 

Say    there  !      P'r'aps 652 

Scintillate  scintillate,  globule  orific 476 

"  Scorn  not  the  sonnet."  though  its  strength  be  sapped 281 

See  yonder  goes  old   Mendax,   telling  lies 369 

Sez  Alderman  Grady 232 

Sez  Corporal  Madden  to   Private  McFadden 230 

Shall  I,  mine  affections  slack 526 

She  flung  the  parlour  window  wide 205 

Shepherd.     Echo,  I  wean,  will  in  the  woods  reply 752 

She  kept  her  secret  well,  oh,  yes 158 

She  stood  beneath  the  mistletoe 196 

She  went  around  and  asked  subscriptions 167 

Side  by  side  in  the  crowded  streets 393 

Sin,   I  admit  your  general   rule 363 

Since   for  kissing  thee,   Minguillo 122 

Sing  for  the  garish  eye ' 875 

Singee   a   songee   sick    a   pence 530 

Singing  through  the  forests 748 


Index  of  First  Lines  973 

PAGE 

Sir  Guy  was  a  doughty  crusader 644 

Sleep,  my  own  darling 932 

Slim   feet  than   lilies   tenderer 477 

Sly  Beelzebub  took  all  occasions 364 

So  slowly  you  walk,  and  so  quickly  you  eat 369 

So  that's  Cleopathera's  Needle,  bedad 105 

Some  ladies  now  make  pretty  songs 367 

Some  poets  sing  of  sweethearts  dead 223 

Speak  gently  to  the  herring  and  kindly  to  the  calf 891 

"  Speak,  O  man  less  recent ! 46 

Spontaneous  Us !    417 

Stiff  are  the  warrior's  muscles. 456 

Strange  pie  that  is  almost  a  passion 472 

Strike  the  concertina's  melancholy  string ! 641 

Sudden  swallows  swiftly  skimming 774 

Superintendent    wuz    Flannigan 225 

Suppose  you  screeve?  or  go  cheap-jack? 399 

Swans  sing  before  they  die : — 'twere  no  bad  thing 364 

Sweet  maiden  of  Passamaquoddy 830 

Take  a  robin's  leg 76 

That  man  must  lead  a  happy  life 803 

That  very  time  I  saw,  (but  thou  couldst  not) 493 

The  Antiseptic  Baby  and  the  Prophylactic  Pup 87 

The  auld  wife  sat  at  her  ivied  door 467 

The  Ballyshannon  foundered  off  the  coast  of  Cariboo 256 

The   cat   is   in   the  parlour 950 

The  chill  November  day  was  done " 938 

The  Crankadox  leaned  o'er  the  edge  of  the  moon 855 

The  crow — the  crow  !  the  great  black  crow  ! 908 

The  day  was  done,  and  darkness 490 

The  editor  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands 447 

The  Emperor  Nap  he  would  set  off 775 

The  fable  which  I  now  present 249 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priest  attend 285 

The  gallows   in   my   garden,   people   say 224 

The  hale  John  Spratt — oft  called  for  shortness,  Jack 406 

"  The  Herring  he  loves  the  merry  moonlight 949 

The  honey-moon   is   very   strange 366 

The  jackals  prowl,  the  serpents  hiss '.  .  .  .  445 

The  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair ! 586 

The  King  was  sick.     His  cheek  was  red 658 

The   Lady  Jane  was  tall  and  slim 590 

The  Laird  o'  Cockpen,  he's  proud  and  he's  great. 703 

The  Llama  is  a  woolly  sort  of  fleecy,  hairy  goat 906 

The  man  in  the  wilderness  asked  of  me 951 

The  man  who  invented  women's  waists  that  button  down  behind     94 

The  Messed  Damozel  leaned  out 471 

The  Microbe  is  so  very  small 907 

The  mountain  and  the  squirrel 290 

The  night  was  thick  and  hazy 617 

The   oft'ner  seen,  the  more  I  lust 807 

The  Owl   and   the   Pussy-Cat  went  to  sea. 901 

The  Pobble  who  has  no  toes 865 

The  poet  is.  or  ought  to  be,  a  hater  of  the  city 97 

The  Pope  he  leads  a  happy  life 70 

"  The  proper  way  for  a  man  to  pray," 54 

The  prospect  is  bare  and  white 42 

The  Roof  it  has  a  Lazy  Time 855 

The  saddest  fish  that  swims  the  briny  ocean 900 

The  sextant  of  the  meetinouse,  which  sweeps 66 

The  skies  they  were  ashen  and  sober 423 

The  sun  is  in  the  sky,  mother,  the  flowers  are  springing  fair. .  451 

The  sun   was  setting,   and  vespers  done 313 

The  sun  was  shining  on  the  sea 896 


974  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

The  Thingumbob  sat  at  eventide 882 

The  town  of  Nice !  the  town  of  Nice ! 438 

The  woggly  bird  sat  on  the  whango  tree 842 

The  woodchuck  told   it  all   about 312 

There  be  two  men  of  all  mankind 35 

There  is  a  river  clear  and  fair 535 

There  lived  an  old  man  in  the  kingdom  of  Tess 866 

There  lived  a  sage  in  days  of  yore 850 

There  once  was  a  Shah  had  a  second  son 199 

There  sat  an  old  man  on  a  rock 348 

There's  a  bower  of  bean-vines  in  Benjamin's  yard 493 

There's  somewhat  on  my  breast,  father 443 

There  wanst  was  two  cats  at  Kilkenny 950 

There  was  a  Cameronian  cat 917 

There  was  a  child,  as  I  have  been  told 946 

There  was  a  cruel  darkey  boy. 927 

There   was   a  lady  liv'd   at   Leith 742 

There   was   a   little   girl 926 

There  was  a  man  in  Arkansaw 697 

There  was  a  negro  preacher,  I  have  heard 274 

There  was  an  old  man  of  Tobago 835 

There  was  a  snake  that  dwelt  in  Skye 88/ 

There  was  a  young  lady  of  Niger 948 

There  was  (not  a  certain  when)  a  certain  preacher 282 

There  was  once  a  little  man,  ana  his  rod  and  line  he  took 200 

There  were  three  jovial  huntsmen 878 

There  were  three  kings  into  the  east 73° 

There  were  three  young  maids  of  Lee 170 

There  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  City 546 

There  were  two  of  us  left  in  the  berry-patch 479 

These  are  the  things  that  make  me  laugh 7Z 

They  called  him  Bill,  the  hired  man 653 

They  nearly   strike  me  dumb IS3 

They're  always  abusing  the  women 126 

They  spoke  of  Progress  spiring  round 337 

They  stood  on  the  bridge  at  midnight 489 

They  tell  me  (but  I  really  can't 600 

They  told  hum  gently  he  was  made 89 

They've  got  a  brand-new  organ.  Sue 162 

They  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve,  they  did 862 

Thine  eyes,  dear  ones,  dot  dot,  are  like,  dash,  what?.... 824 

This  is  the  tale  that  was  toid  to  me 680 

Thou  art  like  unto  a  Flower 427 

Thou   happy,    happy    elf ! 941 

Thou  shalt  have  one  God  only,  who 261 

Thou  who,  when   fears  attack 732 

Though  I   met  her  in  the  summer,  when  one's  heart  lies  round 

at    east 345 

Three  children  sliding  on  the  ice 843 

Three  score  and  ten  by  common  calculation 99 

Tim  Turpin   he  was  gravel   blind 795 

'Tis  midnight  and  the  moonbeam  sleeps 411 

'Tis  midnight,  and  the  setting  sun 843 

'Tis  sweet  at  dewy  eve  to  rove 45° 

'Tis  sweet  to  roam  when  morning's  light ; 878 

To    Lake    Aghmoogenegamook    757 

To  make  this  condiment,  your  poet  begs 93 

The  outer  senses  they  are  geese 509 

To  see  the   Kaiser's  epitaph    948 

To  Urn,  or  not  to  Urn  ?  that  is  the  question 534 

To  you,  my  purse,  and  to  none  other  wight 58 

Tom's  album   was  filled  with  the  pictures  of  belles 141 

Trilobite,    Graphtolite.    Nautilus   pie 324 

"  True  'tis  a  P  T,  and  P  T  'tis,  'tis  true." 788 


Index  of  First  Lines  975 

PACE 

'Twas  a  pretty  little  maiden   i6i 

'Twas  after  supper  of  Norfolk  brawn 884 

'Twas  April  when  she  came  to  town 120 

'Twas   brillig,    and   the   slithy   toves 869 

'Twas  brussels,  and  the  loose  liege 482 

'Twas  ever  thus   from   childhood's   hour ! 469 

'Twas  gilbert.     The  kchesterton 437 

'Twas  late,  and  the  gay  company  was  gone 446 

'Twas  more  than  a  million  years  ago 497 

'Twas  on   a  lofty  vase's  side 557 

'Twas  on  a  windy  night 214 

'Twas  on  the  shores  that  round  our  coast 632 

'Twas  raw,  and  chill,  and  cold  outside 98 

'Twas  the  night  before  Christmas,  when  all  through  the  house. .   935 

'Twas  whispered  in  heaven,  'twas  muttered  in  hell 762 

Two    gentlemen    their    appetite    had    fed 666 

Two  honest  tradesmen  meeting  in  the  Strand 254 

Two    old    Bachelors    were    living    in    one    house 868 

Two    webfoot    brothers    loved    a    fair 629 

Two  Yankee  wags,  one  summer  day 572 

Tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin 124 

Uncle  Simon  he 849 

Upon  a  rock,   yet  uncreate 771 

Upon  an  island,  all  alone 683 

Upon    ane    stormy    Sunday 190 

Upon  the  poop  the  captain  stands 876 

Wake !    for  the   Hack  scatter  into  flight 512 

Wal,  no !  I  can't  tell  whar  he  lives 661 

Wan   from   the  wild  and  woful   West.... 386 

Was  once  a  hen  of  wit  not  small 892 

We  climbed  to  the  top  of  Goat  Point  hill 210 

We   love   thee   Ann    Maria   Smith 380 

We  rode  the  tawny  Texan  hills    288 

We  seek  to  know,  and  knowing  seek 463 

We   were   crowded   in   the   cabin 492 

We've   lived   for  forty  years,   dear  wife 246 

Well  I  recall  how  first  I   met 30 

Werther  had  a  love  for  Charlotte 140 

What  asks  the  Bard?     He  prays  for  nought 320 

What,  he  on  whom  our  voices  unanimously  ran 286 

What  is   Earth,  sexton — A  place  to  dig  graves 810 

What  is  the  matter  with  Grandpapa  ? 950 

What  lightning  shall  light  it?     What  thunder  shall  tell  it? 404 

What  makes  you  come  here  fer.  Mister 925 

What  motley  cares  Gorilla's  mind  perplex 278 

What !  not  know  our  Clean  Clara  ? 283 

"What   other   men   have  dared,   I   dare." 109 

What  poor  short-sighted  worms  we  be 353 

What  ?  rise  again  with  all  one's  bones 363 

What,   what,   what 710 

What  will  we  do  when  the  good  days  come 311 

Whenas  to  shoot  my  Julia  goes 418 

When  Chapman  billies  leave  the  street 623 

When  dido  found  Aeneas  would  not  come 366 

When  good  King  Arthur  ruled  the  land 879 

When   I   am   dead  you'll   find    it   hard 109 

When   I   had  firmly  answered   "  no." 431 

When  I  was  young  and  full  o'  pride 115 

When  lovely  woman  wants  a  favor 494 

When   Mary  Ann  Dollinger  got  the  skule  daown  thar  on  Injun 

Bay 168 

When  men  a  dangerous  disease  did  'scape 365 

When   moonlike  ore  the  hazure   seas 34 

When  nettles  in   winter  bring   forth   roses  red 276 


976  Index  of  First  Lines 

PAGE 

When  sporgles  spanned  the  floreate  mead 877 

When  swallows   Northward  flew 191 

When   that    old   joke   was    new 33 

When  the  breeze  from  the  bluebottle's  blustering  blim 852 

When  the  frost  is  on  the  punkin  and  the  fodder's  in  the  shock  34 

When  the  landlord  wants  the  rent 336 

When    the    little    armadillo 902 

When  they  heard  the  Captain  humming  and  beheld  the  dancing 

crew 615 

When  you  slice  a  Georgy  melon  you  mus'  know  what  you  is  at  73 

Whene'er  I  take  my  walks  abroad 950 

Whene'er  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 84 

Where    the    Moosatockmaguntic 113 

Whereas,  on  certain  boughs  and  sprays 402 

"  Wherefore  starts   my  bosom's  lord  ? 453 

Which    I    wish   to   remark 648 

Which  is  of  greater  value,  prythee,  say 371 

While  Butler,  needy  wretch,  was  yet  alive 370 

Who  am  I  ? 434 

Who  money  hast,  well  wages  the  campaign 323 

Who,  or  why.  oh  which,  or  what 708 

"  Who  stuffed  that  white  owl?  "     No  one  spoke  in  the  shop. . , .  309 

I.  Why  all  this  toil  for  triumphs  of  an  hour? 783 

"  Why  do  you  wear  your  hair  like  a  man 474 

Why   don't   the   men   propose,    mamma? 130 

Why  doth  the  pussy  cat  prefer 895 

Why  is  it  the  children  don't  love  me 943 

Why  should  you  swear  I  am  forsworn 241 

Why  was  Cupid  a  boy 56 

Wisely  a  woman  prefers  to  a  lover  a  man  who  neglects  her 247 

With  chocolate-cream  that  you  buy  in  the  cake 932 

With  due  condescension,  I'd  call  your  attention 106 

With   ganial    f oire 547 

Wynken,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 928 

Ye  may  tramp  the  world  over 717 

Years — years  ago — ere  yet  my  dreams 171 

Yes,  write  if  you  want  to — there's  nothing  like  trying 36 

Yet  another  great  truth  I  record  in  my  verse 906 

"You  are  old  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said 485 

"You  are  old,  Father  William,"  the  young  man  said 531 

You  beat  your  pate,  and  fancy  wit  will  come 362 

You  bid  me  try.   Blue-eyes,  to  write 782 

"  You  gave  me  the  key  of  your  heart,  my  love 137 

"  You  have  heard,"  said  a  youth  to  his  sweetheart,  who  stood..  133 

You  may  notch  it  on  the  palin's  as  a  mighty  resky  plan 312 

"  You  must  give  back,"  her  mother  said 198 

You  prefer  a  buffoon  to  a  scholar 339 

You  see  this  pebble-stone?     It's  a  thing  I   bought 464 

You  Wi'yum,  sir,  dis  minute.     Wut  dat  you  got 325 

You  wrote  a  line  too  much,  my  sage 362 

Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man 792 

Young  Rory  O'More  courted  Kathleen  Bawn 141 

Your   poem    must   eternal    be 364 

Zack  Bumstead  useter  flosserfize 242 

Zig-zagging  it  went 760 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


Accepted  and   Will    Appear 

Parmenas  Mix 

Actor,    An John    Wolcot 

Ad   Chloen,   M.   A. 

Mortimer  Collins 
Address   to    the   Toothache 

Robert   Burns 
^Estivation 

Oliver   Wendell  Holmes 
After  Dilettante  Concetti 

H.  D.  Traill 

After  Horace A.  D.   Godley 

Ahkoond   of   Swat,   The 

George  Thomas  Lanigan 
Ahkond  of  Swat,   The 

Edward  Lear 
Ain't  It  Awful,  Mabel? 

John  Edward  Hazsard 
Alarmed  Skipper,  The 

James   Thomas  Fields 
All   at  Sea. .  .Frederick  Moxon 

All-Saints Edmund    Yates 

All's  Well  That  Ends  Well 

Unknown 
All    Things    Except    Myself    I 

Know Franqois    Villon 

Amazing  Facts  About  F'ood 

Unknown 

Ambiguous    Lines Unknown 

American    Traveller,    The 

Robert  H.  Newell 
(Orpheus  C.  Kerr) 
Angelo   Orders  His  Dinner 

Bayard   Taylor 

Annabel   l.ce.  .Stanley   Huntley 

Annuity,    The.. George   Outram 

Answer     to     Master     Wither's 

Song,   "  Shall   I,   Wasting    in 

Depair?  " Ben   J  onsen 

Any  One   Will   Do...  Unknown 

Appeal  for   Are  to  the  Sextant 

of    the     Old     Brick     Meetin- 

ouse,   A Arabella  IVillson 

Are    Women    Fair? 

Francis  Davison 
Art  of  Bookkeeping.  The 

Laman  Blanchard 
As  to  the  VJeaiher..  Unknown 
At  the  Sign  of  the  Cock 

Owen  Seaman 


268 
287 

184 

724 

849 

474 
320 

710 

708 

664 

70 

280 

264 

343 

91 

804 


751 

428 
497 
350 


526 
169 


818 
107 


414 


B 

Babv's  Debut,  The. .  James  Smith 
Bachelor's   Dream,   The 
_     ,    ,  Thomas  Hood 

Bachelor's  Mono-Rhyme,   A 

Charles  Mackay 
Bald-headed  Tyrant,  The 

Mary   E.    U'andyne 
BsiUad. Charles  Stuart  Calverley 


390 
342 
817 


720 
467 


977 


Ballad,  A . .  Guy  Wetmore  Carryl 
Ballade  of  An  Anti-Puritan,  A 
G.  K.  Chesterton 
Ballade  of  Ballade-Mongers,  A 
Augustus  M.  Moore 
Ballad    of   Bedlam,   A 

Unknown 
Ballad  of   Bouillabaisse,   The 

IV.  M.  Thackeray 
Ballad  of  the  Canal 

Phoebe   Gary 
Ballad     of     Cassandra     Brown, 

The Helen  Gray  Cone 

Ballad  of  Charity,  A 

Charles   Godfrey   Leland 
Ballad  of  the   Emeu,  The 

Bret   Harte 
Ballade  of    Forgotten    Loves 

Arthur   Grissom 
Ballade  of  the  Golfer  in  Love 
Clinton   Scollard 
Ballad    of    Hans    Breitmann 

Charles  Godfrey   Leland 
Ballad  of  High   Endeavor,   A 

Unknown 
Ballad   of  the   Oysterman,   The 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
Ballad  of  the  Primitive  Jest 

Andrew   Lang 
Ballade  of   Suicide,   A 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

Bangkolidye Barry  Pain 

Barney  McGee.  .Richard  Hovey 
Battle  of  Blenheim,  The 

Robert  Southey 
Behave  Yoursel'  Before  Folk 
Alexander  Rodger 
Behold  the  Deeds,  H.  C.  Bunner 
Bellancholly  Days.  .  .  Unknown 
Belle  of  the   Ball,   The 

Winthrop   Mackworth   Praed 

Bells,    The Unknown 

Ben  Bluff Thomas  Hood 

Bessie    Brown,    M.    D. 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck 
Bird  in  the  Hand,  A 

Frederic  E.  Weatherly 
Birth  of  Saint  Patrick.   The 

Samuel  Lover 
Bitter  Bit,  The 

William  E.  Aytoun 
Blow  Me  Eyes!,  Wallace  Irwin 
Boston    Lullaby,    A 

James   Jeffrey  Roche 
Boston   Nursery    Rhymes 

Rev.  Joseph  Cook 
Broken  Pitcher,  The 

William  E.  Aytoun 
Bunches   of  Grapes  'I 

Walter  Ramal* 
Buxom  Joan,  William  Congreve 
Bygones,    Bert    Leston    Taylor 
By  Parcels  Post 

George  R.   Sims 


PAGE 

426 
iZ7 
441 
886 
714 
492 
345 
613 
921 

22i 
222 
669 
484 
583 
72 
224 

334 
721 

252' 

174 
397 
747 

171 
816 
619 

120 

170 

58 

451 
115 

240 

324 

.86 

947 
179 
383 

262 


978 


Index  of  Titles 


Cacoethes  Scribendi 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes     238 

Camerados    Bayard   Taylor     430 

Cameronian    Cat,    The 

Unknown,  917 
Candidate's   Creed,   The 

James  Russell  Lowell  294 
Cantelope,  The,  Bayard  Taylor  393 
Careful   Penman,  The 

Unknown  810 
Carman's    Account    of    a    Law 

Suit,  A..5"tV  David  Lindesay     807 
Casey  at  the  Bat 

Ernest  Lawrence  Thayer     601 
Catalectic  Monody,  A 

Unknown  833 
Cataract  of  Lodore,  The 

Robert  Southey     743 
Categorical  Courtship 

Unknown  207 
Catfish,   The  ,     , 

Oliver  Herford     900 
"  Caudal  "  Lecture,  A 

William  Sawyer       92 
Cautionary  Verses 

Theodore  Hook     828 
Chemist  to   His  Love.  The 

Unknown  206 
Chloe,  M,  A.,  Mortimer  Collins  185 
Chorus   of    Women 

Aristophanes     126 

Christmas  Chimes Unknown     284 

Chronicle:    A    Ballad,    The 

Abraham  Cowley     176 
Circumstance 

Frederick   Locker-Lampson     444 

Clean   Clara W.    B.    Rands     283 

Cloud,   The Oliver  Herford     134 

Clown's  Courtship,    The 

Unknown  217 
Cock  and  the  Bull,  The 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley     464 
Cologne 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge     363 
Colubriad,  The 

William  Cowper     909 
Comfort   in    Affliction 

William  E.  Aytoun  453 
Comic  Miseries.  John  G.  Saxe  42 
Comical  Girl,  The,  M.  Pelham  946 
Commonplaces 

Rudyard  Kipling     427 
Companions 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley       63 
Confession,  The 

Richard   Harris  Barham 

(Thomas  Ingoldsby)  443 
Conjugal    Conjugations 

A.  W.  Bellaw  810 
Conjugal   Conundrum,    A 

Unknown  371 
Constancy,  John  Boyle  O'Reilly  137 
Constant  Cannibal  Maiden.  The 

Wallace  Irwin  194 
Contentment 

Oliver   Wendell  Holmes     238 
Contrast,  The 

Captain   C.   Morris     265 
Converted  Cannibals,  The 

G.  E.  Farrow  683 
Cosmic  Egg,  The. .  .Unknown  771 
Cosmopolitan   Woman,    A 

Unknown     167 


PAGE 

Cossimbazar,    Henry    S.    Leigh  843 
Counsel  to  Those  That   Eat 

Unknown  932 
Country  Summer  Pastoral,  A 

Unknown  883 
Courtin',   The 

James  Russell  Lowell  no 
Courting    in    Kentucky 

Florence   E.    Pratt  168 

Cremation. . . .  William     Sawyer  534 
Crystal  Palace,  The 

W.    M.    Thackeray  547 
Culture    in    the    Slums 

William  Ernest  Henley  400 

Cumberbunce,  The.. Paul  West  844 

Cupid William    Blake       56 

CuP'd Ben  Jonson  2 1 1 

Cupid's    Darts Unknown       67 

Cynical  Ode  to  An  Ultra-Cyni- 
cal  PuhVic.  .  .Charles  Mackay  339 
Cynicus   to  W.   Shakespeare 

James  Kenneth  Stephen  362 


Darius  Green  and   His  Flying- 
Machine 

John  Townsend  Trowbridge  690 
Darwinian  BaWad.  .  .Unknown  913 
Darwinity,  Herman  C.  Merivale  409 
Day   Is   Done,"   '*  The 

Phoebe  Cary     490 
Deacon's   Masterpiece,   The 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  580 
Death's  Ramble,  Thomas  Hood  801 
Declaration,  The,  A^.  P.  Willis  446 
Devil's   Walk   on    Earthy  The 

Robert  Southey     298 
Devonshire  Lane,   The 

John   Marriott     266 
Dialogue  from  Plato,  A 

Austin  Dobson     142 

Dido Richard  Porson     366 

Dighton    Is    Engaged 

Gelett    Burg'^ss     647 
Dinkey-Bird,  The 

Eugene  Field     929 

Dirge Unknown     787 

Dirge,    A 

William  Augustus  Croffut     737 
Dirge  of  the  Moolla  of  Kolal 

George   T.    Lanigan     712 
Disaster 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley .  .469 

Distichs John    Hay     247 

Diversions  of  the  Re- Echo  Club 

Carolyn    Wells     515 
Diverting     History      of      John 

Gilpin,  The,  William  Cowper  564 
Divided    Destinies 

Rudyard  Kipling     704 
Donnybrook   Jig.    The 

Viscount   Dillon     700 
Dora   Versus   Rose 

Austin  Dobson     144 
Double     Ballade     of     Primitive 

Man Andrew   Lang     331 

Dutch  Lullaby. .  .£«^en^  Field    928 


Early  Rising /.•  G.  Saxe      44 

Eastern   Question,    An 

H.  M.  Paull    598 


Index  of  Titles 


979 


PAGE 

Echo /.  G,  Saxe     750 

Editor's  Wooing,  The 

Robert  H.  Newell 
(Orpheus  C.  Kerr)     389 
Elderly  Gentleman,  The 

George  Canning     665 

Elegy Arthur     Guiterman     445 

Elegy,    hn. .  .Oliver    Goldsmith     740 
Elegy  on  the  Death  of  a  Mad 

Dog,   An. .  .Oliver   Goldsmith     764 
Enchanted   Shirt,   The 

John  Hay     658 
Endless   Song,  The 

Ruth  McEnery  Stuart     968 
Enigma  on  the  Letter  H 

Catherine  Fanshawe     762 
Epitaph,  An 

George  John  Cayley     366 

Epitaph,   An Matthew  Prior     765 

Epitaph      intended      for      His 

Wife John  Dryden     368 

Erring   in    Company 

Franklin  P.  Adams       55 
Eternal   Poem,  An 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge     364 

Etiquette IV.    S.    Gilbert     256 

"  Exactly  So  " 

Lady  T.  Hastings       61 
Extracts  from  the  Rubaiyat  of 
Omar    Cayenne 

Gelett    Burgess     512 


Fable,    Ralph    Waldo    Emerson,     290 
Fair  Millinger,  The 

Fred   W.  Loring     186 
Faithless    Nellie    Gray 

Thomas  Hood     797 
Faithless   Sally   Brown 

Thomas  Hood     792 
False   Love  and  True   Logic 

Laman  Blanchard     183 
Familiar  Letter  to  Several  Cor- 
respondents,   A 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes       36 
Farewell. .  .B^rf  Leston    Taylor     419 
Farewell   to    Tobacco,    A 

Charles  Lamb     726 
Fastidious    Serpent,    The 

Henry   Johnstone     887 
Father    Molloy,    Samuel   Lover     307 
Father   O'Flynn 

Alfred  Perceval  Graves     719 
Father   William 

Lewis   Carroll     485 
Father  William. .....  Unknown     531 

Feminine  Arithmetic 

Charles  Graham  H alpine  191 
Fernando  and  Elvira 

W.   S.   Gilbert     635 

Fin  de  Siecle Unknown     357 

Finnigin  to  Flannigan 

5.   W.  Gillinan     225 
First   Banjo,   The 

Irwin   Russell     672 
First  Love 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley  116 
Fish  Story,  A,  Henry  A.  Beers  916 
Fisherman's  Chant,  The 

F.    C.    Burnand       81 
Five  Wives Robert  Herrick     772 


Flamingo,    The 

Lewis    Gaylord   Clark 
Foam    and    Fangs 

Walter  Parke 
Fool  and  the  Poet.  The 

Alexander  Pope 
For  I  Am  Sad,  Don  Marquis 
Forlorn    One,    The 

Richard   Harris   Barham 
(Thomas  Ingoldsby) 
Forty   Years   After 

H.   H.    Porter 

Fragment.    A Unknown 

Friar   of    Orders  Gray,   The 

John  O'Keefe 

Frog,    The Hilaire    Belloc 

From  a   Full  Heart 

A.  A.  Milne 
Future   of  the  Classics,  The 

Anonymous 


PAGE 
894 

544 

363 

379 


210 
450 


282 
907 


31 
826 


Gentle  Alice  Prown 

W.  S.   Gilbert    639 
Gentle  Echo  on  Woman,  A 

Dean   Swift     752 
Gifts  Returned 

Walter  Savage  Landor     198 
Giles's   Hope 

Samuel, Taylor  Coleridge     363 
Girl     Was     Too      Reckless     of 
Grammar,    A 

Guy  Wetmore  Carryl    395 
Good    and    Bad    Luck 

John  Hay  334 
Goose,  The...  Lore/  Tennyson  611 
Gouty       Marchant       and       the 

Stranger,  The,  Horace  Smith     563 
Grain   of   Salt,   A 

Wallace    Irwin     241 
Grampy  Sings  a  Song 

Holman   F.    Day     670 
Great   Black   Crow,   The 

Philip  James  Bailey     908 
Great   Fight,   A 

Robert   H.    Newell 
(Orpheus  C.  Kerr)     697 


H 


Half  Hours  with  the  Classics 

H.  J.  DeBurgh     77^ 
Hans   Breitmann's*  Party 

Charles  Godfrey   Leland     668 
Happy    Man,   The 

Gilles  Menage     814 
He   and    She 

Eugene  Fitch  Ware     109 
He  Came  to  Pay 

Parmenas  Mix    447 
Height   of  the   Ridiculous.    The 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  38 
Hen,  'The. .  .Matthew  Claudius  892 
Hen-Roost  Man,  The 

Ruth  McEnery  Stuart     2i\7 
Here   Is   the  Tale 

Anthony  C.    Deane     421 
Here  She  Goes  and  There  She 

Goes James    Nack     572 

Her  Little  Feet 

William  Ernest  Henley  59 
HerringThe.  .5"t>  Walter  Scott    949 


980 


Index  of  Titles 


Higher    Pantheism    in    a    Nut- 
shell,   The 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne  458 
Hiram  Hover.  .Ba:yard  Taylor  113 
His    Mother-in-Law 

Walter  Parke       75 
Hoch!   Der  Kaiser 

Rodney  Blake     291 
Holy  Willie's  Prayer 

Robert  Burns     272 
Home  and   Mother 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge     932 
Homoeopathic  Soup.  .  .  Unknown       76 
Home  Sweet  Home  with  Varia- 
tions  H.     C.     Bunner     498 

Honey-Moon,  The 

Walter  Savage  Landor     366 
House    That    Jack    Built,    The 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge     407 
How      the      Daughters      Come 
Down  at   Dunoon 

H.  Chalmondeley-Pennell     533 

How    Qften Ben   King     489 

How  to  Ask  and  Have 

Samuel   Lover     181 
How  to   Eat  Watermelons 

Frank  Libby  Stanton       73 
How  to  Make  a  Man  of  Conse- 
quence  Mark  Lemon     280 

Humpty    Dumpty's    Recitations 

Lewis   Carroll     872 
Hundred  Best  Books,  The 

Mostyn  T.  Pigott     769 
Hunting  of  the  Snark,  The 

Lewis  Carroll    676 
Husband   and   Heathen 

Sam    Walter   Foss     160 
Husband's  Petition,  The 

William  E.   Aytoun     454 

Hyder     Iddle Unknown     879 

Hypocrisy Samuel  Butler     365 


Ideal    Husband    to    His    Wife, 

The Sam    Walter  Foss     246 

"  I   Didn't  Like  Him  " 

Harry   B.   Smith     157 
Idyll  of  Phatte  and  Leene.  An 

Unknown     406 

If Unknown     951 

If Mortimer    Collins     436 

If ...H.  C.  Dodge     268 

If  I   Should  Die  To-night 

Ben  King  489 
If  the  M^n.  .  .Samuel  Johnson  949 
If  They  Meant  All  They  Said 

Alice  Duer  Miller     247 
If  We  Didn't  Have  to  Eat 

Nixon  Waterman       57 
If  You   Have  Seen 

Thomas  Moore     444 
I     Hae     Laid     a     Herring     in 

Saut James    Tytler     216 

Imaginative   Crisis,   The 

Unknown  457 
Imagiste  Love  Lines 

Unknown  383 
"irmtat^on ...  Anthony  C.  Deane  375 
Imitation  of  Walt  Whitman 

Unknown  434 
Imitation    of    Wordsworth,    An 

Catherine  M.   Fanshawe     s.?5 

Indifference Unknown     950 

In  'M.em.OTizm. .  .Cuthbert  Bede     463 


PAGE 

In  Memoriam  Technicam 

Thomas  Hood,  Jr.     413 
Invisible  Bridge,  The 

Gelett  Burgess     855 
Invitation      to     the      Zoological 

Gardens,  An Unknown     822 

Inspect   Us Edith   Daniell     471 

In  the  Catacombs 

Harlan  Hoge  Ballard       52 
Irishman  and  the  Lady,  The 

William  Maginn     742 
Irish    Schoolmaster,    The 

James  A.   Sidey     103 
Israfiddlestrings Unknown    472 


J 

Jabberwocky Lewis  Carroll 

Jabberwocky    of    Authors,    The 
Harry  Parsons  Taber 
Jackdaw  of   Rheims,  The 

Richard   Harris   Bar  ham 
(Thomas   Ingoldsby) 

Jacob Phoebe  Cary 

Jester     Condemned     to     Death, 

The Horace    Smith 

"  Jim  " Bret     Harte 

Jim   Bludso John   Hay 

Jim-Jam  King  of  the  Joujot.s 
Alaric  Bertrand  Sttiitrt 
oh. .  .Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 
ocosa  Lyra.. ..  .Austin  Dobson 
ohn  Barleycorn,  Robert  Burns 
ohn   Grumlie 

Allen   Cunningham 
John  Thompson's  Daughter 

Phoebe  Cary 
Jovial  Priest's  Confession,   The 
Leigh  Hunt 
Joys  of  Marriage,  The 

Charles  Cotton 

Jumbles.    The Edward    Lear 

Justice  to    Scotland,  .t7«^n<3w» 


K.    K.— Can't    Calculate 

Frances  M.   Whitcher 
Kentucky    Philosophy 

Harrison   Robertson 

Kindly     Advice Unknown 

Kindness  to  Animals 

/.   Ashby-Sterry 

King    Arthur Unknown 

King   John   and   the   Abbot 

Unknown 
Kilkenny  Cats,  The..  Unknown 

Kiss,  The Tom  Masson 

Kiss  in  the  Rain,  A 

Samuel  Minturn  Peck 
Kitchen  Clock,  The 

John   Vance   Cheney 
Kitty  of   Coleraine 

Edward  Lysaght 
Kitty    Wants   to    Write 

Gelett  Burgess 
K.   K.— Can't  Calculate 

F.    M.    Witcher 
Knife-Grinder,   The 

George  Canning 
Knight   and    the    Lady,    The 

Richard  Harris  Barham 
(Thomas  Ingoldsby) 


869 
437 


586 
491 

578 
652 
661 

364 
824 
730 

Z26 

494 

834 

344 
862 
384 


353  ■ 

3.5^ 

890  j 

891  ^ 
879 

554 

123 

220 
130 
646 
354 
249 

590 


Index  of  Titles 


981 


PAGE 

Lady   Mine H.   E.   Clarke     221 

Laird  O'Cockpen,  The 

Lady  Nairne     703 
Lament    of    the     Scotch     Irish 
E\\\e. .  .James  Jeffrey  Roche     385 

Lanty   Leary Samuel   Lover     208 

Larrie  O'Dee,    William  W.  Fink     165 
Last  Ride  Together,  The 

James  Kenneth  Stephen     431 
Latest    Decalogue,    The 

Arthur   Hugh   Clough     261 
Laughing  Willow,  The 

Oliver  Herford     948 
Lawyer's  Invocation  to   Spring, 
The 

Henry    Howard    Brownell     402 
Lay  of  Ancient   Rome 

Thomas  R.    Ybarra     753 
Lay    of    the     Deserted     Influ- 
enzaed 

N.    Cholmondeley-Pennell     746 
Lay  of  the   Love   Lorn,   The 
Aytoun,     William     E.,     and 

Martin     537 
Lav    of    the     Lover's     Friend, 

the William  E.   Aytoun       88 

Lazy  Roof,  The 

Gelett    Burgess     855 
Learned  Negro,    The 

Unknown     274 
Leedle  Yawcob   Straus 

Charles  Pollen  Adams     940 
Legend  of   the    First   Cam-u-el, 

The Arthur  Guiterman     888 

Legend    of     Heinz    von    Stein, 
The . .  Charles  Godfrey  Leland       49 

Life Unknown     783 

Life  in  Laconics 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge     311 
Like   to   the   Thundering   Tone 

Bishop  Corbet     848 

Lilies Don    Marquis     379 

Limericks Carolyn    Wells     835 

Lines     Unknown     456 

Lines  by  an  Old   Fogy 

Unknown     882 
Lines  to   Miss   Florence   Hunt- 
ingdon   Unknown     830 

Lines    Written    After    a    Battle 

Unknown     456 
"viterary  Lady,  The 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan     278 
Uttle  Binee..W.  M.  Thackeray     546 

Little    Breeches John    Hay     657 

Little  Goose,  A 

Eliza  Sproat  Turner    938 
Little   Mamma 

Charles  Henry    Webb     943 
**^tle    Orphant    Annie 

James  Whitcomb  Riley     934 
Little  Peach,   The 

Eugene   Field     931 

Little   Star,   The Unknown     476 

Little  Swirl   of  Vers    Libre,   A 

Thomas  R.    Ybarra     380 
Little  Vagabond,  The 

William   Blake     269 

Llama,  The Hilaire  Belloc     906 

Logic    Unknown     809 

Logical    English Unknown     809 

Lord    Gny.  .George   F.    Warren     191 
Lost   Pleiad,    The 

Arthur  Reed  Ropes     161 


PAGE 

Lost    Spectacles,    The 

Unknown     2S7 
Love  is  Like  a  Dizziness 

James  Hogg     218 
Lovers  and   a   Reflection 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley     372 
Love  Knot,  The. .  .Nora  Perry     124 

Lovelilts Marion     Hill     824 

Love  Playnt,  A,  Godfrey  Turner     408 
Love's   Moods   and   Tenses 

Unknown     812 
Lucy   Lake 

Newton  Mackintosh     463 
Lugubrious  Whing-Whang,  The 

James  Whitcomb  Riley     858 
Lunar    Stanzas 

Henry  Coggswell  Knight     841 
Lying Thomas  Moore       86 


M 


Madame  Sans  Souci . .  Unknown    951 

Malbrouck Father   Prout       28 

Man,   The Stephen   Crane     248 

Man   in  the   Moon,   The 

James  Whitcomb  Riley  856 
Mam  of  Words,  A,  Unknown  790 
Man's    Place   in    Nature 

Unknown       89 

Manila Eugene  Fitch   Ware     949 

March   to   Moscow,   The 

Robert  Southey     775 
Mark  Twain:  A  Pipe  Dream 

Oliver  Herford       30 
Martial    in    London 

Mortimer  Collins  316 
Martin  Luther  at  Potsdam 

Barry  Pain     404 

Maud Henry    S.    Leigh     188 

Maudle-in-Ballad  ....  Unknown  510 
Mavrone,  Arthur  Guiterman  378 
Meeting    of    the    Clabberhuses, 

The Sam  Walter  Foss     244 

Melton    Mowbray    Pork-Pie,    A 

Richard  le  Gallienne    472 

Mendax Lessmg     369 

Messed  Damozel,  The 

Charles  Hanson  Towne  471 
Mexican  Serenade 

Arthur  Guiterman  902 
Microbe,  The,  Hilaire  Belloc  907 
Midsummer  Madness,  Unknown  377 
Mighty   Must,   The 

W.    S.    Gilbert    376 
Millennuim,    The 

Robert  Browning  60 
Minguillo's  Kiss. . . .  Unknown  122 
Miniver   Cheevy 

Edward  Arlington  Robinson     22g 
Misadventures    at    Margate 

Richard  Harris  Barham 

(Thomas  Ingoldsby)     558 
Mis'   Smith 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine  119 
Modern    Hiawatha,    The 

Unknown     482 
Modest    Wit.    A 

Selleck    Osborn     260 
"  Mona   Lisa  " 

John   Kendrick   Bangs      95 

Money Jehan  du  Pontalais     323 

More   Impressions 

Oscuro  Wildgoose     509 


982 


Index  of  Titles 


PAGE 

More   Walks  .     „     , 

Richard  Harris  Barham 

(Thomas  Ingoldsby)     95° 
Mr.    Finney's    Turnip 

Unknown    847 
Mrs.   Smith 

Frederick  Locker -Lampson     155 
Musical   Ass,  The        ,     „  .    , 

Tomaso  de  Yrxarte  249 
My  Angeline,  Harry  B.  Smith  158 
My  Aunt's  Spectre 

Morftmer   Collins     600 

My   Dream Unknown     853 

My    Feet GWe»    Burgess     855 

My    Foe Unknown     529 

My  Love  and   My  Heart       . 

My     Madeline,     IValter    Parke     773 
My    Mistress's    Boots 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson     153 

N 

.  Naughty  Darkey   Boy.Jhe^^^    ^^^ 

Nemesis J-   ^'  P^^^V  94 

Nephelidia  ^    .   , 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. . 459 
"  Never  Forget  Your  Parents 

Franklin  P.  Adams  394 
New  Church   Organ,  The 

f^t//   Carleton  162 

New   Song,  A /o/«w  Ga3'  754 

New   Version.   The 

H^.   /.    Lampton  90 

New   Vestments.    Edward  Lear  866 
Ninety-Nine  in  the  Shade 

T^ftSJit^r  Johnson  781 

Nirvana      Unknown  900 

No' ' Thomas    Hood  792 

No  "Fault  in  Women 

Robert   Herrick  166 
Nocturnal    Sketch,    A 

Thomas  Hood  823 

Nongtongpaw,    C/iaW^^    i5/fc'^t«  |o8 

Nonsense  Verses,  Charles  Lamb  »48 

Nora's   Vow  ^.^    ^^^^^^    ^^^^^  ^^^ 

Northern    Farmer 

Lord  Tennyson     354 
North,    East,    South   and   West 

Unknown     403 

Nothing Richard    Porson     786 

Nothing   to    Wear 

William   Allen   Butler     148 
Noureddin.     The    Son    of    the 

Shah Clinton    S collar d     1 99 

Nun,  The Leigh  Hunt     206 

Nursery   Legend,    A 

Henry    S.    Leigh     937 
Nursery  Rhymes  a  la  Mode 

Unknown     509 
Nursery       Song       in       Pidgin 
English    Unknown     53o 


Ocean  Wanderer,   The 

Unknown    879 
Ode   for   a   Social   Meeting 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes     833 
Ode  for  a  Social  Meeting 

Leigh   Hunt     834 


PAGE 

Ode  to  a  Bobtailed  Cat 

Unknown     936 
Ode   to   the   Human    Heart 

Laman  Blanchard     784 
Ode  to  Tobacco 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley     732 
Ode  to   Work   in   Springtime 

Thomas  R.    Ybarra       47 

Odv    Unknown     788 

Of  a   Certain   Man 

Sir  John  Harrington  2S2 
Of  All  the  Men,  Thomas  Moore  370 
Of  a   Precise  Tailor 

Sir  John  Harrington     322 
Of  Baiting  the  Lion 

Owen  Seaman     893 
Officer   Brady  ^,       , 

Robert  W.  Chambers     232 
Oh,   My   Geraldine 

F.  C.  Burnand  180 
Old  Bachelor,  An,  Tudor  Jenks  98 
Old  Fashioned  Fun 

W.  M.  Thackery       33 
Old    Grimes 

Albert  Gorton  Greene  766 
Old    Line    Fence,    The 

A.    W.   Bellaw     760 
Old  Man  and  Jim,  The 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 


Old  Song  by  New  Singers,  An 

A.  C.  '"  "' 
Old   Stuff 


678 

Wilkie     506 


Bert    Leston    Taylor      48 
On  the  Aristocracy  of  Harvard 

Dr.  Samuel  G.  Bushnell     949 
On    a    Bad    Singer 

Samuel    Taylor   Coleridge     364 
On    Butler's   Monument 

Rev.   Samuel   Wesley     27 o 
On  a  Deaf  Housekeeper 

Unknown       76 
On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite  Cat 

Thomas  Gray  557 
On  the  Democracy  of  Yale 

Dean  Jones     949 
On  the  Downtown   Side  of  an 
Uptown    Street 

William  Johnstone       79 
On    a    Full-Length    Portrait    of 
Beau  Marsh  ^  _ 

Lord    Chesterfield     369 
On    Hearing    a    Lady    Praise   a 
Certain  Rev.  Doctor's  Eyes 

George  Outram  368 
On  Knowing  When  to   Stop 

L.  /.  Bridgman  312 
On  a  Magazine    Sonnet 

Russell   Hilliard    Loines     281 
On  the   Oxford   Carrier 

John   Milton     780 

On    Scotland Cleveland     369 

On  a  Sense  of  Humor 

Frederick    Locker-Lampson     367 
On    Taking   a    Wife 

Thomas  Moore  367 
Only  Seven ...  Henry  5.  Leigh  543 
Optimism,  Newton  Mackintosh  445 
Origin   of    Ireland,   The 

Unknown     106 
Original    Lamb,    The 

Unknown     477 
Orphan    Born 

Robert  J  Burdette  903 
Oubit.  The,  Charles  Kingsley  330 
O-ug-h.  .Charles  Battell  Loomis     761 


Index  of  Titles  983 

PAGE  PAGE 

Ould   Doctor    Mack  Positivists,  The 

Alfred   Perceval   Graves  717                                  Mortimer  Collins     315 

Our    Hymn  Post   Captain,   The 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  374                                Charles  E.   Carryl     615 

Our    Native    Birds  Post- Impressionism 

Nathan   Haskell   Dole  53                           Bert    Lesion    Taylor     235 

Our   Traveller  Practical  Joker,   The 

Henry  Cholmondeley-Pennell.  .445  IV.    S.    Gilbert      26 

Out  of   Sight,  Out  of   Mind  Prayer  of  Cyrus  Brown,  The 

Barnaby  Googe  807                                   Sam  Walter  Foss       54 

Out  Upon   it  Prehistoric  Smith 

Sir    John    Suckling  218                              David  Law  Proud  fit       83 

Over    the    Way  Presto   Furioso.  .Ott^cn   Seaman     417 

Mary    Mapes    Dodge  125         Prior    to    Miss    Belle's   Appear- 

Owen    Seaman  a.nce.  .J  aines  IV  hit  comb  Riley     925 

Louis    Untermeyer  480        Promissory   Note,   The 

Owl   and    the   Pussy   Cat,    The  Bayard  Taylor    429 

Edward    Lear  901         Propinquity  Needed 

Owl-Critic,   The  Charles  Battell  Loomis       51 

James   Thomas   Fields  309        Purple  Cow,  The 

Gelett  Burgess    948 

P  Q 

Paddy   O'Rafther  Quaker's  Meeting,  The 

•                  Samuel  Lover  571                                      Samuel  Lover      576 

Pairing-Time     Anticipated  Quest  of  the  Purple  Cow,  The 

William   Cowper  212                                        Hilda  Johnson     100 

Palabras  Grandiosas  Questions  with   Answers 

Bayard    Taylor  407                                                Unknown     810 

Panegyric  on  the  Ladies  Quite   by  Chance 

Unknown  803                          Frederick  Langbridge     205 

Paradise George   Birdseye  281 

Parental  Ode  to  My  Son,  Aged 

Three       Years       and        Five  ^ 

Months,   A Thomas   Hood  941         Razor    Seller,   The 

Parson  Gray,  Oliver  Goldsmith  741                                            John   Wolcot     297 

Parterre,  Tlie...£.   H.   Palmer  180        Reasons  for   Drinking 

Pensees  de  Noel,  A.  D.  Godley  336                               Dr.  Henry  Aldrich    364 

Pessimism.  Newton  Mackintosh  338        Recruit,  The 

Pessimist.   The Ben   King  358                           Robert  W.  Chambers     230 

Pet's   Punishment  Reflections      on       Cleopathera's 

J.  Ashby-Sterry     184  Needle Cormac    O'Leary     105 

Phillis's    Age,    Matthew    Prior  332        Rejected    "  National     Hymns," 

Philosopher,    A  The Robert  H.  Newell 

Sam    Walter  Foss  242                               (Orpheus  C.  Kerr)     387 

Phyllis   Lee Oliver  Herford  139         Religion  of  Hudibras,  The 

Pied  Piper   of    Hamelin,  The  Samuel  Butler     271 

Robert  Browning  603         Remedy    Worse    than  the  Dis- 

Pig.   The Robert  Southey     914  ease,   A Matthew   Prior     365 

Pilgrims  and  the    Peas,   The  Report    of    an    Adjudged    Case 

John  Wolcot  621                                     William  Cowper      82 

Pin,    A,    Ella    Wheeler    Wilcox  132         Retired   Cat,   The 

Plaidie,    The. .  .Charles    Sibley  190                                      William  Cowper     910 

Plain  Language   from  Truthful  Retired    Pork-Butcher    and    the 

James Bret  Harte     648  Spook G.   E.    Farrow     685 

Played-Out    Humorist,    The  Retort.  The 

W.  S.   Gilbert  25                           George  Pope   Morris     174 

Plea    for    Trigamy,    A  Rev.  Gabe  Tucker's  Remarks 

Owen    Seaman  68                                                Unknown     312 

Pobble  Who  Has  No  Toes.  The  Reuben Phcebe  Gary     493 

Edward  Lear  865        Rhyme  for  Musicians,   A 

Poe-'em   of   Passion,    A  E.  Lemke     772 

C.  F.  Lummis  532        Rhyme   of  the    Rail 

Poets   at    Tea,    The  John  G.  Saxe     748 

Barry  Pain  486        Rhymester,   A 

Polka   Lyric,   A  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge     363 

Barclay   Philips     832        Riddle.    A Unknown     951 

Poor    Dear   Grandpapa  Rigid  Body  Sings.. 

D'Arcy   W.   Thompson  950                                        /.  C.   Maxwell     483 

Pope.   The Chas.   Lever  70         Robert   Frost 

Pope  and  the  Net,  The  Louis  Untermeyer    479 

Robert  Browning  286         Robinson    Crusoe's   Story 

Portrait,   A John   Keats  496                                   Charles  E.  Carryl     617 


984 


Index  of  Titles 


PAGE 

Rollicking  Mastodon,  The 

Arthur  Macy     853 
Romance   of    the    Carpet,    The 

Robert  J.  Burdette     674 
Romaunt    of    Humpty    Dumpty 

The Henry   S.    Leigh     41 1 

Rondeau,   The 

Austin  Dobson  782 
Rondelay,  A.  .Peter  A.  Motteux  41 
Kory  O'More;  or.  Good  Omens 

Samuel  Lover     141 
Ruling  Passion,  The 

Alexander  Pope  285 
Rura.X'BVi^s.  .Anthony  C.  Deane  97 
Rural    Raptures Unknown     450 


Sabine  Farmer's  Serenade,  The 

Father  Prout     214 
Said    Opie    Reed 
Julian  Street  and  Montgomery 

Flagg 948 

Sailor's   Yarn,   A 

James  Jeffrey  Roche     680 

Sainte    Margerie Unknown     477 

Salad Mortimer   Collins     436 

Salad Sydney  Smith      93 

Sally  in  Our  Alley 

Henry   Carey     182 
Sally    Simkin's   Lament 

Thomas  Hood     800 
Same    Old    Story 

Harry   B.  Smith     360 
Sary   "  Fixes  Up  "  Things 

Albert  Bigelow  Paine  192 
Saying,  Not  Meaning 

William  Basil  Wake  666 
School.  .James  Kenneth  Stephen  60 
Schoolmaster,  The 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley  64 
Scientific    Proof 

7.   W.  Foley    880 
Secret    Combination,    The 

Ellis  Parker  Butler     209 
Select    Passages    from    a    Com- 
ing Poet F.  Anstey     410 

Senex  to   Matt.   Prior 

James  Kenneth  Stephen  362 
Shake,    Mulleary    and    Go-ethe 

H.  C.  Bunner  40 
Shipwreck,  The.  .£.  H.  Palmer  876 
Siege  of  Belgrade,  The 

Unknown     813 
Siege   of   Djklxprwbz,    The 

Eugene  Fitch    Ware       96 

Similes Unknown     791 

Simile,   A Matthew   Prior     262 

Sing  for  the  Garish    Eye 

W.  S.  Gilbert  875 
Sir   Guy   the   Crusader 

W.  S.  Gilbert  644 
Sketch   from   the   Life,    A  . 

Arthur  Guiterman     121 
Skipper  Treson's   Ride 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier  688 
Sky-Making.  .Morfiwer  Collins  314 
Smack   in    School.   Th^ 

William  Pitt  Palmer     128 

Smatterers Samuel  Butler     365 

Society     jupon     the     Stanislaus 

The Bret   Harte     650 

"Soldier,    Rest!" 

Robert  J.  Burdette    374 


Some   Hallucinations 

Lewis  Carroll 
Some  Ladies 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson 
Some  Little  Bug 

Roy   Atwell 
Somewhere-in- Europe- Wocky 

F,    G.    Hartswick 

Song Joseph  Addison 

Song George  Canning 

Song .John   Donne 

Song Richard    Lovelace 

Song J.     R,    Planche 

Song  of   Impossibilities,   A 

Winthrop    Mackintosh   Praed 
Song   of    Sorrow,    A 

Charles  Battell  Loomis 
Song  of  the  Springtide 

Unknown 
'*  Songs  Without  Words  " 

Robert  J.  Burdette 
Sonnet    Found    in    a    Deserted 

Mad    House Unknown 

Sonnet   to  a   Clam 

John  G.  Saxe 
Sorrows   of   Werther,   The      * 
W.  M.  Thackeray 
'Spacially    'i'wa.  .Bessie  Morgan 
Spirk   Throll-Derisive 

James  Whit  comb  Riley 
Splendid    Fellow,    A 

H.   C.   Dodge 
Splendid  Shilling,  The 

John    Philips 
St.    Anthony's    Sermon    to    the 
Fishes 

Abraham  a  SanctaClara 
Stanzas  to  Pale  A\t.  .Unknown 
St.     Patrick     of     Ireland,     My 

Dear ! William    Maginn 

Story  of   Prince  Agib,  The 

W.  S.  Gilbert 
Strictly    Germ-Proof 

Arthur  Guiterman 
•Strike  Among  the  Poets,  A 

Unknown 
Study  of  an   Elevation,    in    In- 
dian    Ink.. Rudyard    Kipling 
Styx    River    Anthology 

Carolyn  Wells 

Surnames James   Smith 

Susan 

Frederick  Locker-Lampson 
Susan  Simpson....  Unknown 
Sympathy Reginald    Heber 

T 

Takings Thomas    Hood,    Jr. 

Tam  o'  Shanter     Robert  Burns 

Ternary  of  Littles.  Upon  a 
Pipkin  of  Jelly  Sent  to  a 
Lady,    A Robert    Herrick 

Terrible    Infant.    A 

Frederick   Locker-Lampson 

'Tis    Midnight Unknown 

'Tis   Sweet  to   Roam 

Unknown 

That  Gentle  Man  from  Boston 
Town Joaquin   Miller 

That  Texan   Cattle  Man 

Joaquin  Miller 

Thingumbob,  The Unknown 

Then  Ag'in . .  Sam   Walter  Foss 


PAGE 

874 
367 

77 

482 
751 

84 
330 
241 

99 

327 

386 

527 

413 

8SI 

734 

140 
129 

855 
267 
316 

251 
732 

101 

641 

87 

78s 

226 

804 

157 
774 
270 


623 


806 

156 
843 

878 

629 

288 
882 

357 


Index  of  Titles 


985 


PAGE 

"  There's    a    Bower    of    Bean- 
vines " Phoebe   Gary     493 

There  Was  a  Little  Girl 

Unknown     926 
Third  Proposition,  The 

Madeline  Bridges     345 
Thought,    A  ^      .  r. 

James  Kenneth  Stephen     248 
Three  Black  Crows,  The 

John  Byrom     254 

Three   Children Unknown     843 

Three  Jovial  Huntsmen 

Unknown     878 
Thursday 

Frederick  E.  Weatherly     313 

Tim  Turpin Thomas  Hood     795 

To  a  Blockhead 

Alexander  Pope     362 
To    a    Capricious    Friend 

Joseph  Addison     368 

To  a   Fly John   Wolcot     734 

To  an  Importunate  Host 

Unknown     534 
To   a  Slow  Walker  and  Quick 

Eater Lessing    369 

To  a  Thesaurus 

Franklin  P.  Adams    825 
To  Be  or  Not  To  Be. . 

Unknown    89X 
To  Doctor  Empiric 

Ben    Jonson     365 
To   Julia    in    Shooting    Togs 

Owen  Seaman     418 

To  Marie John  Bennett     852 

To  Minerva Thomas  Hood       49 

To  My  Empty  Purse 

Goeffrey  Ghaucer  58 
To   My    Nose 

Alfred  A.  Forrester 
(Alfred   Groquill)     832 
Too  Late...Ftf5  Hugh  Ludlow     348 

To  Phoebe W.   S.   Gilbert       28 

To  the  Pliocene  Skull 

Bret    Harte      46 
To  the  Portrait   of  "A  Gentle- 
man " 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes    236 
To  the  Terrestrial   Globe 

W.  S.  Gilbert    256 
Town  of  Nice,  The 

Herman  C.  Merivale     438 
Tragic    Story,    A 

W.  M.  Thackeray  850 
Transcendentalism  . . .  Unknown  92 
Translated   Way 

Franklin  P.  Adams     427 
Travesty    of    Miss    Fanshawe's 

Enigma Horace  May  hew     763 

Triolet Paul   T.    Gilbert     120 

Triolet,  The 

William  Ernest  Henley     782 
True  to   P0II..F.    G.    Burnand     27^ 

Trust    in    Women Unknown     276 

Truth   About    Horace,   The 

Eugene  Field       50 

Tu  Quoque Austin  Dobson     146 

Turtle  and  the  Flamingo.  The 

James  Thomas  Fields  923 
Turvey  Top. . .  William  Sawyer  884 
'Twas   Ever   Thus 

Henry   S.   Leigh     544 
Twelve     Articles.  .Deon     Swift     279 

Twins.  The Henry  S.  Leigh     108 

Two    Fishe» Unknown     188 


PAGE 

Two  Men 

Edwin  Arlington  Robinson       35 
Two  Old   Bachelors.  The 

Edward  Lear    868 

U 

Uffia Harriet   R.    White     877 

Ultimate  Joy,   The. .  .Unknown       32 
Unattainable,  The 

Harry    Romaine     141 
Uncle    Simon    and    Uncle   Jim 
Charles  Farrar  Browne 

(Art emus    Ward)     849 
Under  the  Mistletoe 

George   Francis   Schults     196 
Unexpected  Fact,  An 

Edward    Gannon     844 
Unfortunate  Miss  Bailey 

Unknown     702 
Unsatisfied  Yearning 

R.   K.   Munkittrick     889 
Upon   Being   Obliged  to   Leave 
a   Pleasant   Party 

"-'^^^  Thomas  Moore     367 

Up   the    Spout 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne     460 
Usual  Way,  The 

Frederick  E.  Weatherly     200 


Vague  Story,  A 

Walter  Parke  74 
V-A-S-E,  The 

James  Jeffrey  Roche     227 
Village  Choir,  The 

Unknown     528 
Villanelle  of  Things  Amusing 

Gelett  Burgess       73 
Villon's    Straight    Tip    to    All 
Cross  Coves 

William  Ernest  Henley     399 

Viper,    The Hilaire   Belloc     906 

Visit  from   St.   Nicholas,  A 

Clement  Clarke  Moore     935 

W 

Walrus  and  the  Carpenter.  The 

Lewis  Carroll  896 
The  Whango  Tree. .  .Unknown  842 
War:  A-Z,  The 

John  R.   Edwards     829 

War   Relief Oliver  Herford     901 

Ways   and   Means 

Lewis  Carroll  870 
Way  to  Arcady,  The 

H.  C.  Bunner  201 
Wedding,   A 

Sir  John  Suckling     704 
Wedding,  The 

Thomas   Hood,   Jr.     412 
Well  of  St.   Keyne,  The 

Robert  Southey  584 
What  is  a  Woman   Like? 

Unknown     118 
What's  In  a   Name? 

R.  K.  Munkittrick     347 
What's   My   Thought    Like? 

Thomas  Moore  370 
What   Will   We   Do? 

Robert  J.  Burdette     311 
Whatever  Is,  Is  Right 

Laman   Blanchard     786 


986 


Index  of  Titles 


PAGE 

What  Mr.    Robinson   Thinks 

James  Russell  Lowell     2^2 
Whenceness  of   the   Which 

Unknown     476 
When  Lovely  Woman 

Phcebe  Gary     494 
When  Moonlike  Ore  the  Hazure 

Seas IV.   M.   Thackeray       34 

When     the     Frost    Is    on    the 
Punkin 

James   Whitcomh   Riley       34 
Which  Is  Which.. yo/iM   Byrom     368 

Whistler,    The Unknown     133 

Why? H.   P.   Stevens     214 

Why  Don't  the  Men   Propose? 

Thomas    Haynes    Bayly     131 
Why  Doth  a  Pussy  Cat? 

Surges  Johnson     895 
Widow  Bedott  to  Elder  Sniffles 

Frances  M.   Whicher     195 
Widow  Malone,  The 

Charles  Lever     126 
Wife.  A 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan     366 

Wife,  The Phoebe  Gary     494 

William  Brown  of  Oregon 

Joaquin    Miller     653 

Willows.   The Bret   Harte     423 

Willow-Tree,  The 

W.  M.  Thackeray     439 
Wing  Tee  Wee 

J.  P.  Denison     139 
Winter  Dusk 

R.  K.  Munkittrick      42 


PAGE 
Within  and  Without 

James  Russell  Lowell     359 
Wofle     New     Ballad     of     Jane 
Roney  and  Mary  Brown,  The 

IV.  M.  Thackeray  552 
Woman's  Will..7o/in  G.  Saxe  362 
Wonders  of  Nature.  .  [/w^MOwn  882 
Wordsworthian   Reminiscence 

Unknown     470 
Wreck   of  the    "  Julie    Plante  " 

William   Henry    Drummond     662 
Written   After  Swimming   from 
Sestos  to  Abydos 

Lord   Byron       80 


Yak.  The Hilaire  Belloc     906 

Yarn  of  the  "  Nancy   Bell  " 

W.  S.  Gilbert  632 
Yonghy-Bonghy    Bo.    The 

Edward  Lear  859 
Young  GazeUe.  .Walter  Parke  918 
Young    Lady    of    Niger.   The 

Unknown  948 
Young  Lochinvar.  .  . .  t/n^Moam  381 
Youth  and  Art 

Robert    Browning     339 


Zealless  Xylographer,   The 

Mary  Mapes  Dodge 


7S9 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642^405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subjea  to  immediate  recall. 


ADG    8  1969  2  a 

i 
j 

RECEIVED 

! 
1 

MAR  ;d  070 -12/3 

M 

\^^^ 

f^y^.^^iTfR'^Msy   5 

75 

NOV    2  197^ 

BEC.CIB.0CI2<>'TO 

.. 

LD  21A-407«,-2,'69 
(J6057sl0)476 — A-3 


V?is«-t    t 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


"  ^  •     ^k.  %^    •  \f\j  I 


iilil 

CD31fl2bfibS 


A4r; 


■"'•  V(^ 


'-^f 


/n  zr~- 


-**i 


tiNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


LIBRARY 


■^*^ 


*'?1H»-'.H 


aledv-* 


-  < 


•:•*!: 


1 

m 

\ 

1 

1 

\ 

r,i 


^u 


'    ,     c' 


'  li^:' 


'::1 

'V^i 

■■'...i 

